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AN ENGLISH 
HONEYMOON 



By Anne Hollingsworth Wharton 



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PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON 

J. F. UPPINCOTT COMPANY 

AiCMVIII 



LIBKARYof CONGHESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 6 1908 

Copyright Entry _, 
cuss Cl IXt No. 



^ 



,^ 



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Copyright, 1908 
Bv J. B. LippiNCOTT Company 



Published November, 1908 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Covifyaify 
The IVashington Square Prei'a 
Philadelphia, U. $'.* A , 



CONTENTS 



I PAGE 

WEDDING BELLS AND CANTERBURY BELLS 9 

II 
A MOTOR FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 37 

III 
ZELPHINE's WEDDING JOURNEY 61 

IV 
IN WARWICKSHIRE 80 

V 
A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE Ill 

VI 
WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 128 

VII 

ROMAN ENGLAND 149 

VIII 
SIX DAYS IN LONDON 185 

IX 
STORIED WINDOWS RICHLY DIGHT 216 

X 
Glastonbury's shrine 240 

XI 
" the land of lorna doone " 259 

XII 

DUNDAGEL BY THE CORNISH SEA 278 

XIII 
A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 295 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



A DEVONSHIRE LANE, NEAR LYNTON , . . . Froniispiece 

CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL FROM THE DEAN's GARDEN 16 ^ 

"transept of the martyrdom," canterbury 26 ' 

JANE Austen's house, Winchester 52 '-' 

court op lord leycester hospital 90 ^ 

jordans with the penn graves 118 

interior of meeting house at jordans 118 

rydal water with loughrigq rising above it 132 

Wordsworth's study, dove cottage 138 

doorway op tudor manor house, york 159 

fountain court, london 198 

the isis by iffley mill 220 

dining hall of oriel college 224 ^ 

glastonbury abbey, interior of chapel of st. joseph . . . 250 



Shelley's cottage. 



LYNMOUTH 275 



the post OFFICE AT TINTAGEL 282 

EXETER CATHEDRAL, WEST FRONT 297 



AN ENGLISH 
HONEYMOON 



I 

WEDDING BELLS AND CANTERBURY BELLS 

Mrs. Walter Leonard to Mrs. Allan Ramsay. 

Fleur-de-Lys, Canterbury^ July 12th. 

I HAVE missed you, dear Margaret, ever since 
Walter and I waved our farewells to you from 
Charing Cross station. This is strictly true, 
and if you do not believe me I shall conclude 
that you are so entirely absorbed in your pres- 
ent happiness that you have never given me 
more than a passing thought since you and 
Allan set your faces toward Italy. 

Does not the wedding at St. George's, Han- 
over Square, now seem like a dream ? And was 
it not delightful to have such friendly faces 
around us as those of the Haldanes and Mrs. 
Coxe, and Ludovico, and, not the least welcome, 
that of my brother Archie? It was almost 
worth being married to bring Archie over here 
for a holiday. 

9 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

All other wedding breakfasts will seem flat, 
dull, and commonplace in comparison with that 
unique little feast of ours at the Star and Gar- 
ter. I fear that neither of us could bear a cross- 
examination upon the menu, but the pretty 
room decorated with sweet-peas, the windows 
looking out upon the green slope of Eichmond 
Hill with the slow-going Thames beneath, are 
still vivid pictures in my mind. I do, however, 
remember some huge strawberries on the table, 
the largest and reddest I have ever seen, and 
some delicious little cakes called *'maids- 
of-honor,'' which seemed made expressly for 
our most charming * * maid-of-all-work, " as 
Archie calls Angela, insisting that she is a 
** general utility '' because she waited on two 
brides at the same time. It was a sufficiently 
unconventional breakfast to suit such veritable 
Bohemians as ourselves, and how misleading 
our simple travelling dresses were, so different 
from the gorgeous going-away gowns, with no 
end of white veils and feather boas, that our 
English cousins delight in! We were all abso- 
lutely above suspicion until Archie began to 
propose healths. Walter says he shall never 
forget the expression of the waiter's face when 
it suddenly dawned upon him that ours was a 
bridal party. He nearly dropped his platter 

10 



WEDDING BELLS 



of soles, the crowning glory of the feast. 
Archie's contrite face, when he suddenly real- 
ized what he had done, was quite as entertain- 
ing to me. But his happy thought of a drive 
to Twickenham through Bushy Park and a 
stroll by the Thames and a visit to Pope's old 
church surely made amends for all indiscre- 
tions, especially as every one thought that he 
was the groom and Angela his blushing bride. 
Do you remember how the waiters scrambled 
and fell over each other trying to open the car- 
riage doors for her? 

Shall you ever forget the delight of cross- 
ing the ferry in the little boat, and how pleased 
the boatmen looked when Angela sang ^^ Twick- 
enham Ferry" and we all joined in the chorus? 
That July day, followed by the lovely long 
twilight on the river, was really too short for 
all the pleasure that we crowded into it. 

Now that you have left us, we are all scat- 
tering in different directions. Mrs. Coxe has 
decided to go to Carlsbad with the Haldanes, 
so they are quite sure to be well entertained. 
My brother enjoys London above every place 
else, like most men and some women; but he 
feels it his bounden duty to go to Zurich to pay 
his respects to some great German M.D., with 
whom he has been in correspondence, — and, 

11 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

then, as Memling is Ms latest fad, he wants to 
have a day in Bruges en route, to see the won- 
derful Memlings there, especially the St. Ursula 
series. I tell him that he should prepare him- 
self for the St. Ursula legend by going first to 
Winchester, from whence St. Ursula and her 
noble virgins started upon their pilgrimage, as 
he will be sure to see their poor bones when 
he goes up the Ehine to Cologne. We should 
love to take this trip with Archie, if he were not 
so exclusive in his tastes, quite flatly declining 
to travel with Walter and me. If we only had 
a little more time, we might possibly overcome 
Archie's objections to the society of the newly 
married and insist upon journeying with him, 
but Walter has certain dates to keep at Cam- 
bridge and Oxford, — and, then, does anyone 
ever have enough time over here, except, of 
course, a few unfortunates who don't know how 
to use it? 

Archie finally consented to accompany us as 
far as Canterbury, and is enjoying this won- 
derful old town as much as we are. He is really 
an ideal companion for a Canterbury pilgrim- 
age, as he has always been so fond of the 
Tales and has his Chaucer at the tip of his 
tongue. Has it ever occurred to you that what 
the average man knows he knows more accu- 

12 



WEDDING BELLS 



rately and definitely than the average woman? 
Now pray do not read this part of my letter 
to Allan ; I certainly do not intend to admit this 
to my companions; not, of course, that it ap- 
plies to the men of our families, as they are 
naturally above the average, but what these 
two men have unearthed about the antiquities 
of Canterbury would surprise you. I really 
think that they are both born archaeologists who 
have mistaken their callings by going into 
medicine and the law. 

We are not strictly speaking in pilgrim sea- 
son, for if you remember, which I did not until 
Archie quoted the passage, it was: 

" When that Aprille with his showeres soothe 
The drought of March had pierced to the roote," 

that the motley array of Pilgrims set forth 
from the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, to visit the 
shrine of St. Thomas. We, for our part, are 
very glad to dispense with ** Aprille 's show- 
eres," which, good as they are for vegetation, 
are somewhat dampening to the spirit of a 
modern traveller. WTiatever this County of 
Kent may be in spring-time, and I fancy it is a 
perfect garden, when all these apple- and 
cherry-trees are in bloom, now in summer, it 
so absolutely fulfils its ancient reputation as a 

13 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

land overflowing with milk and honey that we 
can well believe, with Sir Walter's Wamba, that 

" For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 
There ne'er was a widow could say him nay." 

Our first view of the Cathedral was much the 
same as that of Chaucer's Pilgrims, the ex- 
terior being very little changed except that just 
now the beautiful symmetrical proportions of 
the building and its chief glory, the great cen- 
tral tower, Bell Harry, are much disfigured by 
unsightly scaffolding. Even so, the huge, ex- 
quisitely proportioned Gothic tower, with its 
delicate light pinnacles, the smaller tower, the 
lofty southwest turret, and the marvellously 
beautiful and dignified Norman porch all con- 
spire to make this the most impressive of Eng- 
lish cathedrals. 

We entered the Cathedral enclosure, as all 
travellers should, by way of Mercery Lane, 
which was once, I believe, an outer cemetery 
for the laity and is now a crooked, picturesque, 
old street whose houses with projecting upper 
stories invite constant sociabihty among their 
inmates. In the shop-windows, under the eaves, 
fascinating photographs and souvenirs are dis- 
played. At the end of Mercery Lane, is the 
lofty Christ Church gate. Prior Goldstone's 

14 



WEDDING BELLS 



gate, which, battered and weather-beaten as it 
is, has a dignity and beauty of its own. The 
carvings are much worn away, as in the picture 
which you know so well, and small wonder, as 
the gate was built in 1517 and Cromwell's sol- 
diers had their turn here as in so many cathe- 
dral towns! 

Passing under the richly decorated south 
porch, we entered the nave, which, despite its 
lofty arches and vast proportions, produces an 
effect of wonderful lightness and grace. Be- 
yond the screen, with its delicate lacelike 
tracery, is the great choir, the longest in Eng- 
land, Becket's shrine, the goal of pilgrimage, 
and most of the interesting monuments, which 
we could not see because there was a service 
this afternoon. The richly decorated monument 
of Archbishop Benson is in striking contrast 
to the severely simple tomb and small kneeling 
figure in memory of Dean Wotton, one of the 
earliest of Canterbury's deans. Under a por- 
trait bust of Dean Farrar's fine intellectual 
head are these lines of Tennyson's: 

" The wish, that of the living whole 
No life may fail beyond the grave, 
Derives it not from what we have 
The likest God within the soul? " 

Whether from the depredations of Henry 
15 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

VIII or Cromweirs '' Blue Dick/' none of the 
fine old painted windows in the nave remain 
entire, although the west window has been made 
of fragments of the ancient glass. So we may 
not look upon the same scenes that so puzzled 
^'the Pardoner and the Miller," when they fell 
to wondering what the pictures represented, 
just as you and I have stood and wondered be- 
fore many an ancient window in Italy. 

" ^ He beareth a ball-staff ', quoth the one, ^ and also a rakers 

end'; 
' Thou f ailest \ quoth the miller, ' thou hast not well thy 

mind; 
It is a spear, if thou canst see, with a prick set before. 
To push adown his enemy, and through the shoulder 

bore.' " 

We had a glimpse of the Dean's garden, gay 
with bud and blossom, in which there is a 
charming view of the Cathedral building, and 
then walking around the close and entering 
by the Prior's gate to the Green Court we had 
a nearer view of the beautiful Lavatory Tower 
or Baptistery, one of the loveliest bits of mixed 
architecture, in which Norman and Perpen- 
dicular combine to produce a most harmonious 
effect. We wandered on into the great cloister 
whose richness of decoration is almost un- 
equalled, and on through the great ivy-draped 

16 




Canterbury Cathedral from the Dean's Garden 



WEDDING BELLS 



arch to the fragmentary but altogether beau- 
tiful remains of the Monks' Infirmary. 

It is not, after all, the grace and dignity of 
architecture or the richness of decoration that 
most appeals to us here, satisfying as they both 
are; it is all the weight of history that rushes 
over us in this ancient town, which was the gate 
through which Christianity and the arts entered 
England. And yet a busy modern life runs 
along beside these old buildings which are so 
full of associations, and tidy, thrifty-looking 
shops are clustered around the famous Pil- 
grim's Inn, **Ye Chequers of Ye Hope," as if 
to accentuate the quaintness of this ** Dormitory 
of the Hundred Beds." 

King's School, founded in the seventh cen- 
tury, still brings many pupils to Canterbury, 
and a number of visitors attend the school 
services held annually in one of the chapels; 
and in cricket week, our landlady assured us, 
with commendable civic pride and a keen eye 
to business, the town is exceedingly gay. But 
as it is to-day, in its quietness and peace, it best 
pleases us. We were happy to wander at will 
through the narrow streets, stopping to gaze 
at the old houses on High Street with their 
overhanging eaves, or to linger near the modern 
monument at the Butter Market end of Mercery 

2 17 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Lane, a memorial to Christopher Marlowe, 
whose birthplace on George Street we found 
later. Noticing a curious ornament on one of 
the angles of the Chequers Inn we were told 
that it was the Black Prince's cognizance, and 
then we met other reminders of that knightliest 
and gentlest of mediaeval princes who rode 
through these Canterbury streets, after the bat- 
tle of Poitiers, with his royal prisoner, the 
French King. The two princes, conqueror and 
captive, were on their way, like the good Catho- 
lics that they were, to make their offerings at 
the shrine of St. Thomas. 

There will be much to see to-morrow; we 
have only touched the hem of the garment of 
wonder. Now, to return to the life of to-day, 
which is still of some importance, we are com- 
fortably lodged in the Fleur-de-Lys, which, with 
its quaint courtyard and thirteenth century 
windows, seems to fit the old-time associations 
in which we live. 

The moon is full, and this old town by moon- 
light is a dream. We wandered off after din- 
ner to see the beautiful West Gate, which, with 
its two round embattled towers flanked by an- 
cient houses, looks like a bit of mediaeval life set 
down in twentieth century England, then back 
by the main street past Margaret Eoper's 

18 



WEDDING BELLS 



house, we strolled on to King's Bridge, from 
which we had a bit of old Bruges, by whose 
canals you and Allan are probably wandering 
by the light of this same moon. These old 
gabled houses, on a river that is no wider than 
a canal at Bruges or Ghent, are the head- 
quarters of the Canterbury weavers, whc ply 
their trade as did the Huguenot refugees under 
Queen Elizabeth more than three hundred years 
ago. They tell us that the weaving of linen and 
silk quite disappeared from Canterbury for 
some years, and has only lately been revived. 

We have found some compatriots at the 
Fleur-de-Lys, a Philadelphia Quaker lady, Miss 
Cassandra West, and her pretty niece. Miss 
Lydia Mott. Miss West is a delightfully orig- 
inal person and has a vast store of information 
stowed away in her clever head. 

At first Walter and Archie, manlike, looked 
upon the Quaker lady's friendly advances with 
disfavor as an interruption to our happiness, 
and rather resented my civility to her, but 
Archie succumbed to Miss West's charms be- 
fore the evening was over and I predict that 
my good man will soon follow in his footsteps, 
although he still declares himself absolutely 
loyal to me. The niece does not talk much, 
which is just as well, as her aunt has so much 

19 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

to say that is worth hearing, and then Miss 
Mott is so sweetly pretty that it is quite enough 
happiness to sit and look at her charming face. 
We are all grateful to Miss West for a book 
that she loaned us which we have sat up half 
the night reading. In addition to many inter- 
esting things in it about Canterbury pilgrim- 
ages in general, there is a most amusing 
account of two Hampshire farmers, father and 
son, who made a pilgrimage here from near 
Winchester. En passant, the Winchester route 
is one of the famous pilgrimages, which is 
another reason why we should have gone to 
AVinchester before we came here. I am tempted 
to copy one little extract from this book which 
gives an idea of the extreme simplicity, or 
rather the wretched discomfort, of the living at 
that time. Only persons of great distinction 
or wealth seem to have had rooms to themselves 
at the inns, or anything approaching a bed, and 
of the table manners to be found among the peo- 
ple we may form some idea from Chaucer's 
Madame Eglantine, who was considered a 
model of deportment and excessive daintiness 
because : 

" She let no morsel from her lippes fall, 
Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep." 

People of rank seem to have carried their bed- 

20 



WEDDING BELLS 



ding with them en voyage, and our good Farmer 
William and his son, who travelled *^ light'' as 
to baggage and indulged in no such luxuries, 
had sorry experiences while upon their journey 
through the beautiful valley of the Itchen on 
their way to Canterbury. 

^^When they were shown to their beds, Alfred 
wondered why the straw was shaken loose, and 
eight or nine inches deep, in a frame of boards, 
instead of being in a cloth case as they had it 
at home. His father explained that with beds 
in ticks or cases it was very difficult to keep 
them free from vermin when used by all sorts 
of travellers, whereas, when the straw was loose 
the vermin dropped through to the floor, and 
next day the straw could be well shaken out and 
the floor swept. When he examined the straw, 
however, he expressed fear that they would 
have a troubled night, unless the bed- 
ding had been very well shaken and swept 
])eneath, for this was oaten straw. Many 
travellers thought that oat and barley straws 
bred fleas, but he believed the real trou- 
ble was that they had rough stalks, up 
which the insects could crawl to the sleeper, 
while wheat straw, the only sort that should be 
used for beds, was too smooth for insects to 
cling to. To our travellers' sorrow these fears 

21 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

proved only too well founded, and being used 
to clean sleeping at home, they passed a restless 
night. ' ' 

From such discomforts by the way and dan- 
gers from highwaymen, who beset them near 
Bentley and gave poor Alfred a sorry wound 
upon his head, the town of Canterbury as they 
first beheld it from Hobbledown Hill, its great 
Cathedral shining in sunset light, the spire then 
surmounted by a great golden angel, must have 
appeared to these way-worn pilgrims a *^city 
beautiful' ' and a garden of delight. Nothing 
could have presented a sharper contrast than 
the homes and living of the English yeomen of 
the fifteenth century and the beauty and sump- 
tuousness of their churches and cathedrals. 
Reading the simple tale of William and Alfred, 
with the glorious beauty of the great Cathedral 
quite fresh in my mind, gave me some concep- 
tion of what a pilgrimage meant to such devout 
rustics as these and what their great cathedrals 
stood for. The dignity and grace of the vast 
buildings, the harmony of line and color, the 
sound of many voices swelling up through the 
lofty Gothic arches in prayer and praise, must 
have been an inspiration to many a lowly mind, 
making more real and substantial the promised 
joys of Heaven. 

22 



WEDDING BELLS 



After reading together and talking over the 
quaint tale we went off to our slumbers rejoic- 
ing that we were not, like the farmer and his 
son, dependent upon the merits of either rye 
or wheat straw for the comfort of our night's 
rest. 

July ISth. 

This morning we devoted to the Cathedral 
and were fortunate in having an intelligent and 
interesting cicerone. He pointed out to us some 
bits of color still remaining in the vaulting, just 
enough to suggest the rich, elaborate decoration, 
on the arches, windows and monuments, that 
made the interior so gorgeous in Chaucer's 
time. 

I must confess that my interest was very 
much divided between the monuments and 
memorials of my favorite the Black Prince and 
the Shrine of St. Thomas, which should by 
rights claim all of our interest. The tomb of 
Edward Plantagenet is really in the part of the 
Cathedral dedicated to Thomas a Becket, having 
been placed there as the most sacred spot in 
which this beloved prince could be laid. There 
he lies, as he had directed, in full armor, his 
head resting on his helmet, upon his feet spurs 
like those he won at Cressy, his hands joined as 
if repeating his well-known prayer, *'God de- 

23 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

fend the right.'' On his armor is still to be 
seen some of the rich gilding with which the 
figure was once covered from the head to the 
feet, making it appear like an image of pure 
gold. High above the tomb, on a beam reaching 
from capital to capital, are suspended the 
brazen gauntlets, the helmet with its gilded 
leopard crest, the velvet cap emblazoned with 
the arms of France and England, and the empty- 
sheath from which Oliver Cromwell is said to 
have taken the sword. The long inscription in 
Norman French was composed by the Prince 
himself, and calls upon all who pass by to 
contrast his former wealth, beauty and power 
with the wasted form that lies beneath. 

" Tiel come tu es, je aiitiel f u, tu seras tiel come je sn, 
De la inort ne pensay je mie, taut come j'avoy la vie." 

Later we saw the Prince's Chantry, in the 
crypt, which he founded at the time of his mar- 
riage with his cousin Joan. Here in the groined 
vaultings are his own and his father's arms, 
and a face in high relief said to be the Prince's 
beautiful wife, the ^^Fair Maid of Kent." 

The verger conducted us by the cloisters 
which Thomas a Becket had entered, through a 
heavy door with a curious octagonal opening 
on the left, which he told us was a hatch through 

24 



WEDDING BELLS 



wliich the cellarer was wont to pass refresh- 
ments to the monks. This hatch, constructed 
with a sudden bend in the passage, '*a turn,'' 
he called it, was so arranged that the monk 
served with beer could not be seen by the server. 
A most ingenious device, Walter considers it, 
to prevent a too close count of beers. 

This part of the cloister was used as a boys' 
school and on the stone floors are still to be 
seen the marks left by the marbles played by 
the scholars. Over these same stones Becket 
passed, with his monks, slowly, reluctantly, not 
wishing to flee from his enemies, and on to 
the chapter house, where he desired to re- 
main. His followers, however, hurried, almost 
dragged, him into the church, through the door 
of the lower north transept, which the Arch- 
bishop forbade the monks to bar after him, say- 
ing that the church of God should not be turned 
into a fortress. 

'^The vespers had already begun," said our 
guide, ^ ' and the monks were singing the service 
in the choir, when two boys rushed up the nave, 
announcing, more by their terrified gestures 
than by their words, that the soldiers were 
bursting into the palace and monastery. In- 
stantly the service was thrown into the utmost 
confusion." All of the ecclesiastics who had 

25 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 



surrounded Becket fled except Robert, canon of 
Merton ; William Fitzstephen, his chaplain, and 
Edward Grim, the Saxon monk. They forced 
him up a few steps toward the choir as a place 
of greater sacredness and safety; but he shook 
himself loose from them, bidding them to go 
to their vespers, and as they hesitated he 
stepped back to meet his enemies who strode 
through the door, crying, '* Where is Thomas 
a Becket, traitor to his King and country T' 
To which Becket replied, ^^No traitor, but 
Archbishop. ' ' 

We had all read the story more than twice, 
but standing here in the transept near the great 
central pillar in the ancient chapel of St. Bene- 
dict, on the steps where the heroic monk had 
perished fighting manfully but refusing to fly, 
the seven hundred years and more since the foul 
deed was done faded away like a morning mist, 
and it seemed as if it was only yesterday that 
he had stood here defying his enemies one mo- 
ment, in rude and violent language, the next 
raising his eyes to heaven with the words: *^I 
am ready to suffer in the name of Him who 
redeemed me.'' 

Was ever such a scene enacted within a 
church! A fitting sequel was the next act in 
the drama, the penance of Henry II, four years 

26 





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WEDDING BELLS 



later. ^'Here in this Transept of the Martyr- 
dom, the King knelt and kissed the stones/' 
said the verger, ^ ^ and afterwards with his head 
and shoulders within the martyr's tomb, clothed 
in a hair shirt and linen cover, he received five 
strokes of the rod from each bishop and abbot 
and three from each of the eighty monks, and 
afterward laid all night on the stone floor, 
fasting. ' ' 

Seeing that we were in a mood to listen to 
tales of wonder onr clever cicerone, who evi- 
dently possessed a fine dramatic instinct, led 
us to the part of the crypt in which St. Thomas 
was first buried, where many miracles were per- 
formed, and then back into the choir to the spot 
where the shrine stood. This is readily found, 
as the feet and knees of many pilgrims have 
worn away the stone floor which once sur- 
rounded it. Here thousands of the faithful 
flocked from all over Christendom, until Henry 
VIII called upon Thomas a Becket to 
prove his right to sainthood. Becket hav- 
ing then been dead over three hundred 
years and not in a position to vindicate 
his rights, the King straightly charged 
that ^^ Thomas Becket should no longer be con- 
sidered a saint,'' and then proceeded to destroy 
the shrine and reduce to ashes his remains. 

27 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Hence the ruthless destruction of so much that 
was beautiful in this Cathedral ; but in the three 
hundred years that had intervened Becket's 
tomb was the favorite shrine of Christian Eng- 
land. According to Dean Stanley no less than 
one hundred thousand pilgrims came to Can- 
terbury in one year, to kneel before the shrine 
and to rub their wounds and aching bones 
against it, or the stone floor or any part of the 
sacred tomb they were allowed to touch, and 
here: 

" The holy relics each man with his mouth 
Kissed, as a goodly monk the names told and taught." 

The kissing of the gruesome relics seemed to 
us what our Puritan ancestors would have 
called ^^a fearful joy,'' but our democratic prin- 
ciples were quite outraged when we learned 
that even this poor comfort was not allowed to 
all alike. When the relics were displayed, only 
persons of rank were permitted to enter the 
Sacristy and gaze upon certain precious pos- 
sessions, such as the rude pastoral staff of pear- 
wood, the rough cloak and bloody handkerchief 
of the ^^ martyr.'' **Here," said our guide, 
'^ among the many gorgeous offerings that 
blazed upon the shrine was the Eegale 
of France, a jewel the size of a hen's 

28 



WEDDING BELLS 



egg. The King of France had come here 
to discharge a vow made in battle, and knelt 
at the shrine with the stone set in a ring 
on his finger. The Archbishop, who was pres- 
ent, entreated him to present it to the saint. 
So costly a gift was too much for the royal 
pilgrim, especially as it ensured him good luck 
in all his enterprises. Still as a compensation 
he offered 100,000 florins for the better adorn- 
ment of the shrine. The Primate was fully 
satisfied; but scarcely had the refusal been 
uttered when the stone leaped from the ring, 
and fastened itself to the shrine, as if a gold- 
smith had fixed it there." 

Miss West, who had been very quiet, as we 
had all been during the verger ^s recital, now 
turned to him a face as serious as his own, and 
said, *^Does n't thee know, my friend, that it is 
only by means of a miracle that thee can get 
anything out of some people I ' ' We all laughed, 
even the solemn verger's countenance relaxed, 
for a moment, and with a smile still lurking 
about the comers of his mouth, he told us that 
in a certain part of the service when the relics 
were to be displayed, the silver bells of the 
canopy above the tomb were rung, which was 
the signal for pilgrims all over the church to 
fall upon their knees, and this, he said, was the 

29 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

origin of the name given to the little blue flower 
that blooms in such profusion all around Can- 
terbury. 

It is a pretty enough tale, whether true or not, 
and following close upon Miss West's sally 
broke in upon the solemnity of our morning un- 
der the spell of St. Thomas. Archie reminded 
us of the lateness of the hour, and leaving many 
interesting sights for another day we made our 
way through the dark entry, and out into the 
beauty of the ^^ Green Court'' and the sunshine 
and the joy of living, feeling, as Walter said, 
that a full course of St. Thomas taken at 
one sitting, or rather standing, was **a 
bit strenuous." 

This afternoon we devoted to recreation pure 
and simple, motoring to Barf re stone Church, 
where there is some fine Norman work and I 
truly believe the most beautiful church door in 
England, Motoring over these perfect roads, 
many of them old Eoman roads, between 
hedges, orchards and all manner of greenery is 
a joy in itself. Our chauffeur tells us that we 
should not miss seeing the Garden of the Fran- 
ciscans, and in this most enchanting little en- 
closure, with its parterres of gaily blooming 
flowers, we spent a happy hour. The small 
bridges over the Stour covered with vines are 

30 



WEDDING BELLS 



so picturesque, especially one that an English 
girl was sketching, from which there is a view 
of the weavers' houses, that I longed to make 
you a water color of it. Across the narrow 
river, a creek we should call it in America, 
and actually spanning it, is a gray stone build- 
ing which was once the home of the Fran- 
ciscans. Here it was that Richard Lovelace, 
a Kentish man, and a devoted adherent to 
Charles Stuart through good and evil report, 
wrote the well-known lines: 

" Stone walls do not a prison make, 
Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 
That for a hermitage." 

July 14th. 

We are spending Sunday here; surely we 
could find no better place than this, among all 
these memorials of early Christianity. "We had 
an hour at St. Martin's this morning, which 
does not look its age if it is really the oldest 
church in England. 

Where the modern and mediaeval plaster has 
been stripped from the walls of St. Martin's 
there are some bits of pink mortar which 
Archie declares are Roman, and this with a 
certain kind of tile placed at irregular inter- 
vals, he assures us, indicates great age. The 

31 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

verger told us that the church had been 
much enlarged, only a small part of it being 
the old Eoman church built before St. 
Augustine came to Canterbury. As there was 
a Eoman camp here during the reign of Con- 
stantine the Great, it is not impossible that 
some part of St. Martin's was built before 
Queen Bertha's time, but for me it is quite 
enough to know that she worshipped here. 
Whether or not King Ethelbert was baptized 
from the beautiful baptismal fount, richly deco- 
rated with scroll-work and intertwining circles, 
nobody seems to know. The Norman piscina is 
old and interesting, and above all, as the sign 
and seal of antiquity, there is a ^^ lepers' 
squint" through which lepers and penitents 
could see and hear the services while standing 
under the shelter of the old porch. The verger 
pointed out a narrow little window on the north 
wall through which, he said, ^^the evil spirits 
escaped from the church and went to the north 
country." Why to the north and not to the 
south he did not explain. 

We spent some time in the crypt of the Cathe- 
dral this afternoon and heard the French ser- 
vice which has continued without interruption 
since the Huguenots were driven out of their 
own country by the revocation of the Edict 

32 



WEDDING BELLS 



of Nantes. So sparse a congregation assembled 
in St. Gabriel's chapel that I am inclined to 
think that the service is continued because the 
English particularly dislike to break off from 
any time-honored usage. Archie says an an- 
tiquarian, whom we met at the library, told 
him that the tradition of the French weavers 
having plied their trade in this crypt is quite 
without foundation, and Miss West's practical 
mind had already suggested the impossibility 
of working in this *^dim religious light." The 
carvings on the capitals in the crypt are beau- 
tiful and grotesque beyond my powers of de- 
scription. One may readily fancy the monks 
amusing themselves over these carvings, or 
avenging themselves by representing their 
enemies with distorted and gruesome faces, a 
Dantesque revenge, or, like some English 
^^Lippo Lippi," working out in stone wonders 
the wild joy of youth and love. 

Walter and Archie had their heads together 
over their Baedeker's so long this evening, 
without inviting me to take part in their conver- 
sation, that I fancied that they were preparing 
some of the historical conundrums which they 
delighted to spring upon me, such as, *^Did you 
know, Zelphine, that our word canter was de- 
rived from the easy ambling pace at which the 

3 33 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Canterbury pilgrims rode their palfreys to the 
shrine of St. Thomas, just as saunter came from 
sainte terre, one who wanders through the Holy 
LandT' or, ^^Did you know that most of the 
Tom Towers and bells in England were named 
after Becketr' 

No, I did not know these interesting facts, 
nor would they, as I took pains to inform them, 
had they not been poring over local guides, and 
had not Archie been talking, by the hour, with 
a learned antiquarian in the library. 

A proposition quite different from what I 
expected awaited me, however, and my brother 
was the spokesman. ^^I had been talking a 
great deal about Winchester and the pilgrim- 
ages from there. How would I like to go to 
Winchester in an autocar? It would be a 
pleasant little wedding jaunt, and I had not had 
much of a wedding trip, anyhow. ' ' How would 
I like it? How could I help liking it, when he 
and Walter had planned a trip quite after my 
own heart, and then — fell blow to my vanity ! — 
Archie asked in his most persuasive manner 
whether I thought we could induce Miss West 
and her niece to join us. Oh, Archie, is it the 
wit of Miss Cassandra or the beaux yeux of 
Miss Mott that tempt you to prolong your 
days upon English soil? Upon this subject, 

34 



WEDDING BELLS 



when questioned in private, Walter, — loyal soul 
that he is! — declined to give an opinion. The 
very first time he has hesitated to answer a 
question of mine. 

To make a long story short, the two ladies 
accepted ^^my invitation,'' as Archie is pleased 
to call it, having the good sense to realize that 
they would add quite as much to our enjoyment 
as the trip would to theirs. Can you imagine 
a more delightful suggestion! I left half of 
my heart in Winchester when I was there with 
you, and I have always hoped to return and see 
some of the things that we missed, and now to 
go back with Walter and Archie, who have 
never been there, will be a rare treat. Miss 
Cassandra is as much excited over the prospect 
as any girl in her teens. She has a story that 
she wishes to look up in Winchester, the Dulce 
Domum tale, which you remember. She and I 
thought it belonged to the King's School here; 
but after investigation we find that we must 
change its habitat to Winchester. 

Walter has set the fashion of calling our 
Quaker lady ''Miss Cassandra" (among our- 
selves, of course), as the contrast between her 
cheerful outlook upon life and her name sug- 
gestive of dismal prophecy appeals irresistibly 
to his sense of humor. 

36 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

We leave here to-morrow morning early. 
Walter says that my eyes shine like the King's 
Eegale at the prospect of the jaunt. It is not 
that I am glad to leave this beautiful Canter- 
bury, with all its wonders; but the prospect of 
a day in the open with congenial companions is 
something that stirs one's blood, and even old 
Chaucer says: 

"What shoiilde he studie and make hymselven wood, 
Upon a book in eloystre always to poure ? " 



II 

A MOTOR FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 



God Begot House^ 

Winchester^ July 15th. 

We were up with the lark this morning and 
off before wind and sun had swept the dew from 
the grass. Our way was by Hobbledown, 
Chaucer's 

"little town, 
Which that ycleped is Bob up and down, 
Under the Blee in Canterbury way." 

Before going through what is left of the 
forest Blee, or Blean, we had our last and most 
glorious view of the great Cathedral from Hob- 
bledown Hill, its great tower and airy pinnacles 
silhouetted against a clear blue sky. Yes, Eng- 
lish skies can be blue at times, almost as blue as 
those of Italy and America. We passed by 
Lanfranc's ancient leper hospital, where was 
preserved the slipper of St. Thomas which so 
excited the anger of Dean Colet, when he came 
here with Erasmus, that he exclaimed angrily, 

87 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

*'Do these asses expect us to kiss the shoes of 
every good man who ever lived ? ' ^ 

In a field beyond is a little spring with a stone 
arch above it, and, in proof of its claim to be 
called the Black Princess Well, his three 
feathers adorn the keystone of the arch. The 
waters of this spring are said to possess cura- 
tive properties, and, although we were none of 
us ailing, and indeed felt particularly well and 
happy, we drank some of the water in memory 
of the Black Prince, hoping with Miss Cassan- 
dra that it would not give us any of the mala- 
dies it claims to cure. This is the last of the 
waterings of St. Thomas. We saw the fine park 
of Leeds Castle from the highway and so went 
speeding on to Maidstone, situated on both 
banks of the Medway, the ancient capital of 
Kent, which Samuel Pepys found ^*as pretty 
as most towns and people of fashion in if 
Whether or not Maidstone is fashionable, it is 
now a prosperous-looking place, full of brew- 
eries and nursery gardens. In the old part of 
the town we saw the Bell Inn on Week Street, 
and regretted that it was too early for us to 
lunch there and try the cheer that Pepys found 
so good. It was Walter and I who regretted; 
Miss Cassandra had no regrets at not being 
able to follow in the footsteps of Mr. Pepys, as 

38 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

he happens to be one of her pet aversions. 
^'Does n't thee know,'' she said, in something as 
near a tone of reproach as her amiability would 
permit, — doesn't thee know, dear, that Samuel 
Pepys misrepresented William Penn and his 
family and even called his mother, Lady Penn, 
a ^well looked, fat, short, old Dutch-woman'?" 

*^She was Dutch," said Walter, ^*and there 
was nothing to be ashamed of in that; and the 
Pepyses and Penns seem to have had a jolly 
enough time together, racketing about at even- 
ing parties with cards, suppers, and dances, and 
all that sort of thing." 

**Yes, if thee can believe what he says. Why, 
he didn't even know how to spell Sir William's 
name, and although fair to his face and pre- 
tending great friendship, Pepys was eaten up 
with jealousy on account of Sir William's favor 
at Court, calling him in one place *the falsest 
rascal there ever was in the world.' I can 
show thee the passage." 

^*Aunt Cassie is on her favorite subject," 
said Lydia, who was chatting away gaily with 
Archie on the front seat. ^ ' Do not let old Pepys 
and his gossip spoil this beautiful day for thee, 
Aunt Cassie." 

**No, child, thee is quite right," said Miss 
Cassandra, smothering her indignation and 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

turning to Archie to ask Mm some question 
about the country through which we were 
passing. 

Nothing that we have seen in England sug- 
gests peace and plenty as does this Kentish 
land, with its rich meadows embroidered with 
scarlet poppies over which innumerable sheep 
and cattle are grazing, its great fields of yellow 
grain, its orchards of apple, plum and cherry, 
and above all acres and acres of hop-vines on 
all sides. These vines, with their exquisite 
heads of blossom swinging from pole to pole, 
remind us of the immense hop farms in Otsego 
County, near Eichfield Springs. Like, and yet 
with a difference, as there is something quite 
entirely English about this countryside, and 
the comfortable farm-houses with the pictur- 
esque red-tiled roofs and machicolated gables, 
and odd conical-shaped barns, are like noth- 
ing we have seen elsewhere. 

After we left Maidstone, our chauffeur 
begged to be allowed to change his route from 
the pilgrims' way, as we had planned, for 
another which he said was shorter and over 
better roads — but still Eoman roads, he assured 
us. 

Whether he knows anything about it or not, 
Walter says that many of the roads are prob- 

40 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

ably Eoman, as roads once made are not usually 
given up. To be motoring over Constantine's 
roads seems sufficiently incongruous, but to be 
going at a breakneck speed is absolutely inde- 
corous, and Archie, at my request, in his own 
language told the chauffeur ^^to slow up," as 
we were not running a race, or on schedule 
time, even if we were Americans ; we were out 
for pleasure, and it made little difference when 
we reached Winchester. 

We certainly have an air of enjoyment. 
Lydia Mott has about her all the crispness and 
freshness of the morning. She seems never to 
get a speck of dust upon her smart blue serge 
suit, or a strand of her hair out of place, even 
in the high gale of an automobile, and with 
no end of little locks curling themselves around 
her forehead and neck, her face framed in by 
her blue veil, she is quite a picture of youthful 
prettiness. I do not wonder that Archie likes 
to talk to her, and although she is so quiet 
usually, she seems to have plenty to say to him 
to-day. Walter and Miss Cassandra and I, on 
the back seat, have given up all idea of conver- 
sation and simply enjoy the beauty of the scene 
and the freshness of the air, which has such a 
soothing eifect upon the lady that she is soon 
sound asleep. Walter reminds me that this is 

41 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

the first time we have motored over the country 
roads since our famous ride from Como to 
Varese, when we found Allan awaiting us at 
Villa D^Este, — as if I needed to be reminded 
of that fateful ride! Absorbed in pleasant 
memories, and in a sense of hien etre that only 
comes to us when we are happy and the world 
is at its best, we flew along through a bit of 
Sussex and on into Hampshire, until Lydia 
broke in upon our reveries by pointing out the 
tower of Winchester Cathedral. It is rather 
disappointing at a first view, as you may re- 
member, — less stately than Canterbury, and 
lacking the exquisite grace with which Salis- 
bury's lofty spire rises into the blue. 

I need not tell you what Winchester looks 
like, as it is quite unchanged since you and I 
were here, except that the statue of King Alfred 
has been unveiled. It is a fine, noble statue, 
upon a base of rough hewn stone, but after the 
Angelos and Donatellos that we have seen one is 
not easily satisfied. To my thinking Donatello 's 
St. George gives a better idea of Alfred the 
Great than this statue; something of the force 
and dignity of the primitive man, which we 
naturally attribute to Alfred, is in that won- 
derful face and figure. 

They tell us that King Alfred was buried 

42 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

over on Jewry Street in Hyde Abbey, part of 
which is now a barn. It seems strange that his 
ashes were not placed, with the other great 
ones, in the Cathedral. You remember how in- 
terested we were in the richly-decorated mor- 
tuary chests of the Saxon kings, in their niches 
high up on the side screens of the choir. The 
remains within must be almost infinitesimal, 
as the tombs have been broken open during sev- 
eral wars and the dust and bones considerably 
scattered and mixed. But this is their shrine, 
and here the names and memories of Edred and 
Edmund and Ethelwulf and of some of the 
Danish kings are preserved, and we feel that 
the remains of the great Alfred should be in 
this goodly company. 

I am more than ever impressed by the beauty 
of the tombs, monuments, and chantries, some 
of which are much more noble and dignified 
than many of those in Westminster Abbey, as 
Bishop Langdon's chantry, and that of William 
of Wykeham, placed in the part of the Cathe- 
dral where he loved to pray when a boy, as the 
verger told us. 

*'How different from other boys!'' exclaimed 
Walter, which levity so shocked the verger's 
reverent soul that we all hastened to make 
amends by our warmly-expressed admiration 

43 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

for the chantry, and for the noble reclining 
figure with the strange inscription: 

"Here, overthrown by death lies William, sumamed 
Wykeham." 

You surely remember it, and the dear little 
praying monks, with their innocent old faces 
and clasped hands, sitting at the feet of the 
proud churchman whom only death could over- 
throw. We had an hour in the Cathedral this 
afternoon, which only gave us time for a gen- 
eral view of its vastness, the nave the longest 
in England, and for a glance at the rich decora- 
tions of the great screen, and the wonderful 
carvings on the choir stalls, with the impish 
little faces looking out from the tracery of 
leaves and flowers, as odd and unexpected as is 
the Lincoln imp gazing down from his perch 
in that great Cathedral. The exquisite fan 
tracery in wood, on some of the vaultings, is 
said to have been designed by William of 
Wykeham himself. 

Walter was as much pleased when he came 
across the tablet of Izaak Walton as if he had 
met a friend. We have been laughing at him 
for getting so much pleasure out of a tomb ; but 
I must confess that I had much the same feeling 
when I saw the tablet in memory of dear Jane 

44 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

Austen, and near it that of Mrs. Montagu, *^the 
Queen of the Blue Stockings'' and, better still, 
as the tablet records, '^the Chimney Sweepers' 
Friend.'' 

We wandered afterwards through the en- 
trance to the Deanery, with its three pointed 
arches, hoping to see Izaak Walton's house, 
which once stood in the garden. We were told 
that it had been pulled down, but to make 
amends for our disappointment we were shown 
some *^ absolutely authentic Druidical stones," 
which interested the men of the party very 
much, as did a bit of Eoman pavement. It 
appears that Philip of Spain stopped at this 
famous old Deanery the night before his mar- 
riage to Queen Mary. We had just seen the 
chapel in the Cathedral where her portrait is 
preserved, and the chair in which she sat during 
the ceremony. Even in her gorgeous costume, 
blazing with jewels and her mantle of cloth of 
gold, Mary could never have been anything but 
plain and unlovely, and small reason as we have 
to admire Philip, when we looked at her hard, 
unsympathetic face we could almost find it in 
our hearts to excuse him for his cruel indiffer- 
ence. Mary Tudor certainly had enough sor- 
row in her young life to turn sweet to bitter! 
From being the idol of the court and her par- 

45 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

ents, their ^^most precious possession,'' as 
Henry was wont to call her when her hand was 
sought by foreign princes, to be set aside 
in turn by the daughter of Anne Boleyn, and 
the son of Jane Seymour, was quite enough 
indignity to have written hard lines upon the 
face of Catherine of Aragon's proud daughter. 
Among many memorials of the Winchester 
pilgrims we saw the gate made of four pieces of 
fine grill-work, before which they stood and 
gazed at the shrine of St. Swithin. This re- 
minded us that we had not yet been shown the 
place where St. Ursula and her virgins, and 
her very submissive lover, set forth upon their 
pilgrimage to Rome. No person here seems to 
know anything about St. Ursula, except that 
she was the daughter of the King of Wessex, of 
which kingdom Winchester was the capital; 
but Archie's Canterbury antiquarian gave him 
an interesting bit of information. He says that 
the legend of the eleven thousand virgins grew 
out of a mistake made by an early copyist who 
freely rendered the entry ' ^ Ursula et XI M. V. " 
as *^ Ursula and 11,000 virgins," reading the 
M. as millia instead of *' martyred." I wonder 
if a great many incredible tales could not be 
thus explained! It is really a great comfort 
to me to have the frightful slaughter of virgins 

46 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

diminished; but, as Archie says, this reading 
^' takes the shine off the Memling paintings of 
St. Ursula and her train, and throws a great 
many bones quite out of business. *' 

Why are we stopping at this old inn! I hear 
you ask. We really intended to go to one of the 
hotels, but our chauffeur brought us here, for 
some reason best known to himself, and at the 
first glimpse of the overhanging eaves and tim- 
ber-work of this most picturesque house, Miss 
Cassandra began to untie her bonnet-stringa 
with such an air of satisfaction that we felt 
sure that nothing would make her quite so 
happy as to stop at this old ^^God Begot 
House,'' which dates back to 1558. Archie re- 
marked, quite pathetically, after dinner, that 
**man cannot live upon antiquities alone,'' but 
it is only for a day or two as I reminded him. 
There are many other advantages here to com- 
pensate for the lack of such comforts as we 
might find at some up-to-date inn. To be on 
High Street near the beautiful Market Cross is 
a pleasure in itself, and then to look out of the 
window, at any hour of the day or night, and 
see the full-length figure of good Queen Anne, 
with the orb in her hand and a crown of gold 
upon her head, is a privilege not to be lightly 
esteemed. It is interesting to be in Winchester 

47 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

on St. Swithin's Day, in the evening, and espe- 
cially encouraging to be told that ^^not a drop 
of rain has fallen to-day.'' We may be reason- 
ably sure of good weather, for according to the 
old rhyme — 

" St. Swithin's Day, if thou dost rain 
For forty days it will remain : 
St. Swithin's Day, if thou be f aire 
For forty days 'twill rain nae maire." 

We find it easy to believe that St. Swithin 
was kept out of his tomb in the Cathedral by 
forty days of rain. But what we are inclined 
to doubt is that it will rain *^nae maire" for 
so long a time, St. Swithin's Day being clear. 

July 16th. 

Oh! my prophetic soul! In the home of the 
St. Swithin legend, and with all signs in our 
favor, we awoke this morning to hear the rain 
pouring in torrents — a rain of the permeating 
dampness and wetness for which English rains 
are particularly distinguished. The two men 
of the party were anxious to go to Stonehenge, 
stopping over for a couple of hours at Salis- 
bury, and although we women had all been to 
both places, and though we were longing for 
another day in Winchester, we had amiably sig- 
nified our willingness to accompany them. This 

48 



A FLIGHT INTO THE I>AST 

downpour was too much for even Walter's an- 
tiquarian enthusiasm, and so we all had a morn- 
ing together in the ^'Seinte Marie College of 
Wynchestre," as it is called in the old charter, 
which we saw in the muniment room; the date 
is 1382, but there was a Grammar School here 
under the care of monks of St. Swithin's Priory 
long before the Norman Conquest where Ethel- 
wulf and Alfred were educated. 

Amid all the wealth of antiquities here I do 
not wonder that you and I missed some of the 
interesting things, among others the old paint- 
ing of the ^* trusty servant'' in the college hall. 
Such an odd old picture! The servant's hands 
are full of implements of husbandry and house- 
wifery. His head is that of an ass, a padlock 
on his mouth: 

" The padlock shut — no secrets he 'II disclose, 
Patient the ass — his master's wrath to bear, 
Swiftness in errand — the stag's feet declare." 

Altogether a most delicious conceit, dating back 
to the fourteenth century, although the figure 
has been touched up and put into Brunswick 
uniform as a compliment to George III, who 
paid a visit to the college in 1778. 

By dint of much questioning and infinite pa- 
tience, Miss Cassandra has unearthed the Dulce 

4 49 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Domum legend, and, as Archie says, demon- 
strated her prowess in running a quarry to its 
lair. The story is that an unhappy scholar of 
Wykeham, kept in college during the long vaca- 
tion, wrote some Latin verses with the refrain, 

" Domum, domum, domum, dulce domum." 

The boy died just as the holidays were ending, 
it is said of a broken heart, and the verses were 
found under his pillow. 

Is it not a curious coincidence that almost the 
same arrangement of words was used by the 
young Wykehamist so many years before John 
Howard Payne wrote our own *^Home, sweet 
home''? The date of the writing we cannot 
find, but the verses were probably set to music 
by John Reading, who was organist to the col- 
lege between 1680 and 1692. There is no really 
good translation of the Latin verses, so I will 
not inflict any of them upon you. 

The sad little story of the boy's death is 
doubted by the latest historian of Winchester 
College; but the fact remains that the Latin 
verses are still sung each year at the close of 
the summer term, around a great tree that was 
pointed out to us. 

Some other verses, that Walter found, 
amused us very much. It appears that when 

50 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

Grocyn, the noted Greek scholar, was still a 
callow youth in Winchester College, a girl threw 
a snowball at him, upon which he wrote, in a 
strain which is a bit suggestive of Waller : 

" My Julia smote me with a ball of snow ; 
I thought that snow was cold; but 'tis not so. 
The fire you wakened, Julia, in my frame 
Not snow, nor ice can cool ; but answering flame." 

It was here that the sententious little scholar, 
when asked by her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, 
whether he had ever experienced the charms of 
the ^^bibling rod,'' replied in the well-known 
line, which was sufficiently stately to suit the 
occasion — 

" Thou bidst me, Queen, renew a speechless grief." 

Archie has discovered a most hideous regu- 
lation of the college; the boys actually paid 
*^rod money," and thus contributed to their own 
*^ speechless grief," which refinement of cruelty, 
something akin to buying the rope for your own 
hanging, was practiced until the beginning of 
the last century. After a long and profitable 
morning in the college, which contains a num- 
ber of portraits, carvings, and tapestries, we 
returned through College Street, passing by 
Jane Austen's house, which suggested to us the 
idea of motoring out to her country home. This 

51 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

house in Winchester is the one in which she 
spent the last months of her life, but the Steven- 
ton parsonage, in which her girlhood was 
passed, is over near Basingstoke, about four- 
teen miles north of Winchester. Miss Cassan- 
dra was overjoyed at the thought of this little 
pilgrimage, and begged me to go with her to 
the Cathedral to take one more look at the brass 
tablet in memory of Jane Austen, placed there 
by her nephew, Austen Leigh. The words are 
so simple and sweet : 

Jane Austen, known 
to many by her writ- 
ings, endeared to her 
family by the varied 
charms of her charac- 
ter, and ennobled by 
Christian faith and 

PIETY. 

There is a much longer inscription on the 
ledger stone in the floor nearly opposite the 
tomb of William of Wykeham ; but we like this 
one best, and as we stood there reading the 
words Miss Cassandra recalled to me Mrs. Mai- 
den's story of the stranger who visited Win- 
chester Cathedral thirty years ago, to whom the 
verger said, quite apologetically, **Pray, sir, 
can you tell me whether there is anything par- 
ticular about that lady, so many people want 

52 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

to see where she is buried T' Such was Jane 
Austen ^s fame so near the place of her birth! 

*^My dear/' said Miss Cassandra, with a glint 
of something like tears in her kindly gray eyes, 
'*I want to tell thee that I was named for Jane 
Austen's mother. Thee must know that al- 
though my father was a Friend he always en- 
joyed a good romance. Walter Scott was his 
delight; but above all others he placed Jane 
Austen. I have seen him laugh over some of 
Mr. Bennett's witticisms until the tears rolled 
down his cheeks, and when he was looking about 
for a name for me my mother suggested Eliza- 
beth, as the name of his favorite heroine." 

**Why not Jane?" I asked. 

*'Why, thee sees I had a sister Jane; but just 
at that time there came out a sketch, in one of 
the magazines, about Jane Austen and her 
family, in which her mother, Cassandra Leigh, 
was described as a witty, clever, and charming 
woman from whom Jane inherited much of her 
ability, and forthwith my father named me Cas- 
sandra. Jane also had a sister Cassandra to 
whom she was devotedly attached." 

And so you see our cheery Miss Cassandra 
is not named after the Trojan lady of dismal 
prophecy. After this revelation, nothing would 
have induced us to give up the trip to Steven- 

63 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

ton. Fortunately St. Swithin ceased to frown, 
and the sun shone forth after luncheon. 

There is nothing especially picturesque or 
inspiring about the little village of Steventon 
or the parsonage, which, it appears, is not the 
same house in which the novels were written, 
as that was pulled down some years since. We 
may believe, however, that the old-fashioned 
garden is much the same, and the *'turf ter- 
race'* exactly answers to the description of the 
terrace in ^^Northanger Abbey. '* Miss Cas- 
sandra also called our attention to the Hamp- 
shire hedges, or hedgerows, to which Jane 
Austen so frequently refers. Quite different 
from the ordinary English hedge, the Hamp- 
shire hedge is — sometimes a path, and some- 
times a cartroad bordered with copse wood and 
timber. The hedges at Steventon were called 
the ' ' Wood walk ' ' and the ' ' Church walk. ' ' The 
latter led to the church, and to a fine old manor 
house of the time of Henry VIII, to whose 
grounds the little Austens had free access. 

Seeing this small village, situated among the 
chalk hills of North Hants, and the hedges, and 
the rather monotonous and uninteresting coun- 
try in which Jane Austen lived when she was 
painting her ** little bits of ivory two inches 
wide," caused us to wonder more than ever at 

54 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

the touch of genius that gave interest and vital- 
ity to everyday and somewhat commonplace 
characters and events. 

Although the Austens afterwards lived at 
Chawton Cottage, on the Winchester highway, 
it was her early home at Steventon that is most 
often reflected in Jane Austen's novels. Miss 
Cassandra says: *^It is very much with Jane 
Austen as with the Brontes ; she was true to the 
Hampshire that she knew, just as ^ Jane Eyre' 
and *Wuthering Heights' breathe the York- 
shire moors in every line." 

If we have never been to Haworth, Miss Cas- 
sandra says, **go and see the parsonage with 
the graveyard beside it, and walk across those 
desolate moors, and then you will understand 
something of the life and genius of those won- 
derful women." 

How I should love to go ! but is there any end 
to the interesting things we could do in Eng- 
land 1 From Winchester we could make a dozen 
literary pilgrimages, Charlotte Yonge's home is 
at Otterbourne, and John Keble's at Hursley, 
both near Winchester ; Massinger, Fielding, and 
Joseph Addison all lived at Salisbury; and only 
three miles away is Wilton, of carpet fame, 
where Philip Sidney wrote his '* Arcadia" and 
George Herbert his hymns. Charles Kingsley's 

55 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Eversley and Miss Milford's Swallowfield are 
within easy reach. Shall we not come here and 
spend a whole month some time? 

Salisbury, July 17th. 
This morning we left Winchester betimes, 
stopping by the way to pay our respects to the 
St. Cross Hospital, which is on the Itchen only 
a mile from the town. This very interesting old 
hospital, founded by Bishop Henry de Blois, in 
1136, is for the support of ^ thirteen poor, 
feeble old men," and after the lapse of nearly 
eight hundred years it still carries on the work 
for which it was established. We met some of 
the aged brothers coming out of the chapel, 
in black gowns with silver crosses on the left 
breast. A very intelligent brother took us 
through the chapel and explained to us the curi- 
ous griffs on the bases of the columns, carvings 
of various animals, and the beautiful Nor- 
man work over the doors and windows, and the 
^ lepers' squint." The quadrangle through 
which we passed to the refectory is most pict- 
uresque and is surrounded by the dormitories, 
with their many slender chimneys and lovely 
arched doorways. In the refectory, which is 
open to the sky, our guide showed us the great 
leather jacks, or pitchers, which were used to 

56 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

bring up ale from the cellar, as each poor feeble 
brother was allowed three quarts per day. 

An interesting rule of St. Cross is that no 
person asking for a piece of bread and a horn 
of ale shall be turned away from the gate. We 
did not demand this far-famed dole at the por- 
ter's lodge, but we had the pleasure of seeing 
some poor men enjoy it, three of them at one 
time. The woman at the gate said it was given 
out as long as the daily portion lasted. There 
is a regular fee charged for admission to St. 
Cross, but so small a one — a shilling and six 
pence for a party — that we naturally wished to 
give the good brother who conducted us a small 
douceur. Archie and Walter, I knew, were 
having a bad quarter of an hour over this ques- 
tion of to tip or not to tip the refined and edu- 
cated man who had given us so much pleasure. 
Miss Cassandra, like the proverbial **Lady 
from Philadelphia," came to their rescue by 
telling them that the good brothers were quite 
used to accepting tips, and by putting all of 
our offerings together we could make up a sum 
which they need not hesitate to offer our guide. 
As usual. Miss Cassandra was right, and the 
old gentleman was more than willing. 

We accomplished our motor trip to Stone- 
henge this morning, which I need not tell you 

57 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

looked quite the same as when we saw it. The 
only thing that seems to be changed is the opin- 
ion of the antiquarians about the origin of the 
mysterious monuments. It was all quite easy 
and simple when we studied history and Mrs. 
Markham told us that these were Druidical al- 
tars, but now the Phoenicians, the Saxons, the 
Danes, and even the Buddhists are allowed an 
opportunity to claim the honor of setting up 
Stonehenge. Archie's antiquarian told him that 
there are a number of these stone circles in 
the Orkneys, on the Island of Lewis, and in 
other parts of the kingdom. So much excavat- 
ing is being done through England that their 
history will some time be revealed. 

We stopped at Old Sarum, on our way, an 
enormous camp once the site of a Eoman 
encampment. It is not possible to go any dis- 
tance here without being reminded of the 
Eoman occupation. At Amesbury, where we 
stopped for luncheon, Vespasian had a camp, 
and what interested me more. Gay wrote 
his ** Beggar's Opera" at Amesbury Abbey, a 
quite proper place for pla3rwriting, as Ames- 
bury, like the town of the Prince of Dramatists, 
is situated upon the Avon. And as if to hope- 
lessly confuse one's geography, there is a vil- 
lage of Stratford quite near. 



A FLIGHT INTO THE PAST 

We reached Salisbury in time to walk around 
the Cathedral and the close. The best view we 
had of it was from Sarum hill, and as it rises 
from the surrounding level with a certain dig- 
nity, lightness and grace, Salisbury Cathedral 
may well be called The Lady of the Plain. 

The interests of the day have been rather 
too varied to suit my taste; but this was our 
one day for Stonehenge, as we all go 
our separate ways to-morrow. Archie in- 
sists upon taking us to Eeading, which 
is a good starting-place for Miss Cas- 
sandra and Miss Lydia, who are to visit friends 
in Cambridge; and for ourselves, as we are 
going northward. I really do not know just 
where we are going, as Walter is so mysterious 
about our next stopping-place; I rather think 
I am to have another ** wedding journey," and 
if it proves as delightful as this one of Archie's 
and Walter 's planning, I shall feel that to keep 
quiet and drift is a desirable role for me. 
Whatever my good man's plans are, Miss Cas- 
sandra is evidently au courant of them, as they 
have mysterious confabs and much nodding and 
smiling on the part of the Quaker lady. I 
choose to see nothing, as I dearly love to be 
surprised. Something else that is not exactly 
a surprise, as it was my own suggestion, is that 

59 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Christine and Lisa are coming over next month, 
and this is also for my pleasure, although I 
must admit that their father's eyes dance when- 
ever their names are mentioned. 

If Mrs. Coxe could only know how pleased I 
am at the prospect of having the little girls 
with me, she would stop pitying me for having 
married a widower with children. Of course the 
dear lady was quite too polite to express her 
sympathy in words; but a cliacun a son gout 
look came over her face whenever the children's 
names were mentioned. Poor dears, I do trust 
that they may like me ! 



Ill 

ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 



Keighlet, July 19tli. 

You will wonder, dear Margaret, when you 
read this letter-heading, where we are and why 
we are here. I wondered myself, because, as 
I told you, Walter would give me no satisfac- 
tion, having planned this little detour as a sur- 
prise to me. Only when looking over some 
post-cards at a stationer's yesterday afternoon 
and finding a lot of Haworth pictures — the 
Bronte house, the Black Bull, and the Church — 
did it suddenly dawn upon me that Keithley, as 
these remarkable Britons call it, is the Keighley 
which Mrs. Gaskell speaks of as an old-fash- 
ioned village on the road to Haworth. Walter 's 
delight over my surprise and his success in 
^^ doing me," to be quite English, would have 
amused you and Allan. 

This manufacturing town, grimy with the 
smoke of many worsted mills, is a prosaic 
enough entrance to the home of the writers of 
the most romantic and imaginative fiction of 

61 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

their day. Dull and gray as it looks, after the 
rich verdure and bloom of Kent and Hamp- 
shire, I shall always hold Keighley in grateful 
remembrance as the gate to a day of perfect 
happiness in Haworth. This is my real wed- 
ding journey, because it was all planned as a 
surprise for me, and is a pilgrimage so entirely 
after my own heart. 

The Commercial Hotel, which we were told 
was the least objectionable in the town, is fur- 
nished with a grill-room where we dined upon 
chops of England *s best, potatoes browned to 
•a turn, and the inevitable plum tart. After din- 
ner, being interested in refreshing our mem- 
ories by looking over a copy of Mrs. Gaskell's 
*'Life of Charlotte Bronte," which we picked 
up in a bookshop, we read until a late hour. 
The room assigned to us was of magnificent 
proportions and brilliantly lighted with elec- 
tricity. The landlady in showing it to me said 
that it was the manager's room, which I fancy 
she gave to us as a tribute to my gray hair and 
generally sedate appearance. 

When I turned off the light about midnight 
I noticed that a number of wires crossed the 
room near the ceiling, but being very sleepy 
I paid no attention to them and was soon in 
the midst of an animated conversation between 

62 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

Kochester and Charlotte Bronte. The demure 
little lady was telling her hero, who had long 
black hair and wore a Lord Byron collar, that 
he really must leave her then and there, when 
suddenly upon the stillness of the night there 
sounded, not the wild shriek of the insane wife 
of Rochester which would have been entirely 
appropriate to the occasion and the hour, but 
a loud, persistent knocking at the door, and a 
voice calling out something about an old gen- 
tleman who had no light and could not find his 
way to his bed. As this circumstance did not 
seem especially to concern us, we paid no at- 
tention to it until the voice again called out 
that we had turned off ^^the central switch," 
and the whole house was as black as ink. 

The old gentleman's dilemma was of so Pick- 
wickian a flavor, and the whole affair was so 
amusing, especially Walter's wrath over what 
was quite our own fault, that we forgot our 
annoyance in the humor of the situation and 
began the day — for it must then have been 
after one o'clock — ^with a hearty laugh. 

The next day, the one day we had dedicated 
to Haworth, it was raining. We are inclined to 
think that it always rains in Yorkshire, the 
skies are so leaden. By eleven o 'clock, the hour 
for one of the infrequent trains leaving for 

63 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Haworth, the rain had ceased, but the clouds 
were still heavy and lowering. When, however, 
we saw the sombre little town quite two miles 
before we reached the station, upon its hilltop 
with dun and purple hills rising above it, just 
as Mrs. Gaskell described it, we concluded that 
clouds and gray skies best became Haworth. 
Its associations are certainly not of the gayest, 
when we remember the semi-tragic life of the 
three remarkable women who lived here, and 
their daily and hourly struggle with poverty 
and ill-health, while across their path was ever 
the shadow of the ill-doing of the brilliant, be- 
loved, but weak and ill-governed Branwell 
Bronte. 

We were travelling third-class to-day, for lo- 
cal color, and you will, I think, admit that we 
found it. A portly and red-faced man, still in 
that debatable land which we are pleased to call 
middle life, was talking quite earnestly to a 
companion in a language that we supposed to 
be Yorkshire, which we managed to understand, 
even though I am not clever enough to put it 
on paper. We gathered from the stranger's 
remarks, interlarded as they were with some 
quite unfamiliar expletives, that he had not 
been pleased with his accommodations at the 
Commercial Hotel at Keighley. Then in quite 

64 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

plain English he exclaimed, '^When I came to 
the inn at one o'clock, it was all dark, and so, 
stumbling and batting about, I opened what I 
thought to be my door. A scream followed, 
^Robbers! Fire!' Fortunately I recognized 
the voice of the manageress, and, quieting her 
alarm by telling her I had made a mistake, and 
that the house was as black as a coal-mine, she 
set about finding out what was the matter." 

We were deeply interested by this time, and 
considerably disconcerted. The speaker's Eng- 
lish was evidently a concession to our ig- 
norance, as he was pleased to include us in the 
conversation. 

^^And what was it — fuse burned out?" asked 
the comrade. 

'*No, some fule of a woman had turned off the 
central switch. An American — I fancy they 
don't know much about electricity in that 
country. ' ' 

^^ Where, oh, where did Franklin fly his kite!" 
murmured Walter. 

*^The manageress had gone to bed, I fancy, 
but where was the night watchman?" queried 
the listener. 

^' Sound asleep in the office. But did you 
ever hear of such a fule trick?" 

Smothering our laughter, we acknowledged 

5 06 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

that we never had, and, to divert attention from 
my burning cheeks and confusion of counte- 
nance, Walter began to look over his time tables 
and to ask questions about trains to York. 
Among other papers and notes there fell upon 
the floor an introduction to the proprietor of the 
Black Bull in Haworth, which had been pressed 
upon us by our landlord at Canterbury. Our 
friend of the midnight adventure picked up the 
note, and, as he returned it, said quite civilly, 
*^I see my name on the envelope. What can I 
do for your' 

Walter explained, and he and the host of the 
Black Bull were soon talking together, the lat- 
ter informing his ignorance as to localities and 
distances, while I, the guilty one, the disturber 
of the night's peace, thought of the Bronte sis- 
ters, who so often walked these four miles be- 
tween Keighley and Haworth, as there was no 
railroad in their time, and a hack from the 
Devonshire Arms :was too great a luxury to be 
indulged in often. 

As there were no hacks at the station to-day, 
we climbed up the hillside road, which is so 
steep that the stones are zigzagged to keep men 
and horses from slipping. 

Although a thriving little manufacturing 
town has grown up at the foot of the long hill, 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

we can well imagine the loneliness of Haworth 
in the winter, even now, and in Charlotte 
Bronte's time the mail coach over Blackston 
Edge was sometimes snowed up for a week or 
ten days. 

At the top of the hill is the principal street 
of the village, paved with great blocks of stone, 
like the hill towns of Italy and almost as primi- 
tive in its appearance. On this street stands 
the Black Bull, Branwell Bronte's favorite 
resort. 

Our guide insisted upon our stopping first to 
see his inn, which is the quaintest and most 
individual that we have found anywhere, with 
its black oak and shining pewter, very much, I 
fancy, as it looked in the days of the Brontes. 
The daughter of mine host of the Black Bull, a 
pretty, rosy-cheeked lassie, at her father's sug- 
gestion, constituted herself our cicerone. A 
more intelligent guide we might have found, 
but none more willing or cheerful. Whether 
showing us the tablet to Charlotte Bronte in 
Haworth Church, or pointing to us the windows 
of her room at the rectory, the little maid's 
countenance was wreathed in smiles, probably 
in view of prospective shillings. Her one idea 
seemed to be to take us to the Bronte Museum, 
but we preferred to linger near the rectory, 

67 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

which is somewhat enlarged since the Brontes 
lived here and now has, in front of it, a tidy 
little garden and lawn. Some flowers and shrubs 
have been induced to grow here where once a 
few straggling currant bushes struggled for ex- 
istence on the bare strip of ground between the 
house and the churchyard wall. On the other 
three sides the house is set about with grave- 
stones. Across the way is the school-house, the 
church quite near toward the village, and be- 
yond the street opens out upon the lonely moors 
that Emily Bronte so loved that she pined and 
grew pale and ill when away from them. It was 
the sense of liberty that the moors gave her that 
Emily delighted in, and here were the elemental 
forces that she longed to meet in nature and in 
men and women. 

There must have been something of the primi- 
tive woman in these sisters, especially in Emily, 
whose free and untamed soul, as Matthew 
Arnold wrote, 

"Knew no fellow for might, 
Passion, vehemence, grief. 
Daring, since Byron died." 

Coming of a mingled strain of Cornish and 
Irish ancestry, both poetic and imaginative 
strains, the inherited tendencies of the Brontes 

68 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

were developed by the loneliness of a home 
where there were few visitors and no childish 
friendships. The sensitive and imaginative 
girls wrote their weird and romantic dramas 
and acted them for the pleasure of their own 
circle, which included their father and their 
brother Branwell. 

Do you remember how Emily and Anne 
amused themselves, for years, with **the Gon- 
dals^'? Emily wrote in one of her letters: 
**The Gondals still flourish, bright as ever. I am 
at present writing a work on the First War.'' 
These creatures of their imagination, whom 
they carried through the most thrilling experi- 
ences, seem to have afforded the sisters unfail- 
ing entertainment. Emily frequently refers to 
the struggles between the royalists and the re- 
publicans in ^^Gondaland," and once she says, 
**We intend sticking firmly by the rascals as 
long as they delight us, which I am glad to say 
they do at present." ^^ Pleasures of the Imag- 
ination'' the sisters certainly possessed; and 
how much imagination was needed to make life 
interesting upon their bleak hilltop, which 
Charlotte herself admitted was ''not romantic," 
even if ''flowers brighter than the rose bloomed 
for Emily in the blackest of the heath" ! 

Although we had been told that the present 

69 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

rector of Haworth admitted no visitors, having 
doubtless been bored to extinction by curious 
tourists, I plucked up courage to sound the 
knocker, hoping, quite unreasonably, that some 
exception might be made in our favor, only to 
be met with an uncompromising rebuff admin- 
istered in the expressionless tone of an official 
guide: *^No visitors admitted without a letter 
of introduction. ' ' And so, having no letter, we 
were denied the pleasure of seeing the interior 
of the Bronte home, and above all the dining- 
room, that is so intimately associated with the 
life and work of Charlotte and Emily. Here it 
was, says Mrs. Gaskell, after their simple sup- 
per and their allotted task of needlework, in 
which the sisters all excelled, that they would 
walk around and around the table, their arms 
intertwined, discussing plans for school-keep- 
ing, teaching, and in later years the plots for 
their novels. The demure little elder sister 
combined with her soul of fire and her rich 
imaginative faculty a saving sense of humor, 
and so much sweetness and domestic charm that 
she more than once made havoc with the hearts 
of her father's curates. The appearance and 
disappearance of her several suitors served to 
vary the monotony of Charlotte's life, but 
Emily and Anne were too painfully shy and re- 

70 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

served to indulge to any extent in recreations 
of the same sort, although Emily in childhood 
is said to have been the prettiest of the three, 
and we have Charlotte's authority for the state- 
ment that the curates sometimes **cast sheep's 
eyes at Anne." 

Dear, gentle Anne Bronte, as her brother-in- 
law called her, seems to us a vague and shadowy 
personality. She was perhaps understood by 
no one except her bosom companion and confi- 
dante, Emily. Her life was passed at Haworth, 
to which place she was brought as a baby, only 
leaving home to fulfil the uncongenial task of a 
governess at neighboring country houses. 

It seems that only once did Anne go from 
home on a pleasure trip, unless her hurried 
journey to London, with Charlotte in 1848, may 
be so considered. The record of this brief out- 
ing is in Emily's diary of 1845 : 

Anne and I went on our first long journey by ourselves 
together, leaving home the thirtieth of June, Monday, sleep- 
ing at York, returning to Keighley Tuesday evening, sleep- 
ing there and walking home on Wednesday morning. 

This same **long journey" to York we had 
planned to make from Keighley this afternoon, 
had not Bronte associations absorbed us body 
and soul to the exclusion of everything else. 
Instead of the two or three hours that we were 

71 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

assured would be quite long enough for Ha- 
worth, we have given up the entire day to it, 
only returning to Keighley in time for a late 
dinner. 

As we strolled across the moors back of the 
parsonage we recalled the description given by 
Mrs Bronte's nurse of the six little creatures, 
the eldest but seven, who used to walk out hand 
in hand over these moorland paths. ^ ' I used to 
think them spiritless,'' said the nurse, "they 
were so different to any children I had ever 
seen. In part I set it down to a fancy Mr. 
Bronte had of not letting them have flesh meat 
to eat. It was from no wish for saving," she 
explained, "for there was plenty and even 
waste in the house, but he thought children 
should be brought up simply and hardily." 

< c There is nothing pale or delicate about that 
pair," said "Walter, with the most delightful 
inconsequence, but I knew that our talk about 
the motherless little Brontes had turned his 
thoughts toward his own bairns, and so I was 
prepared to fill in any gaps that might occur. 

"And if we should undertake to cut off their 
flesh-meat there certainly would be a rebellion 
in the family." 

"And they would be quite right," I said. 
"I 'm glad for my part that Christine and Lisa 

72 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

know what they want and are not afraid to ask 
for it. The Bronte children were far too meek 
and submissive for their own good.'' 

*^You evidently share my friend Abbott's 
views about the training of parents, Zelphine," 
exclaimed Walter; **if old Mr. Bronte had been 
trained out of his queer notions and had not 
sent Charlotte and Emily back to that wretched 
school where they were starved, they might 
have lived to be old and Emily might have writ- 
ten another ^Wuthering Heights.' " This last 
with a twinkle in his eye, as if one ^^Wuthering 
Heights" was not quite enough for the world! 

Yet Mr. Swinburne considers this book as one 
of the legacies of genius, and I must say that 
I quite agree with his estimate of the wonder- 
ful power of Emily Bronte's description of the 
moors, when he says, ^^All the heart of the 
league-long billows of rolling and breathing and 
brightening heather is blown with the breath 
of it in our faces as we read ; all the fragrance 
and freedom and glow and glory of the high 
north moorland." 

To make the picture complete, I longed to 
see a lapwing, with its brilliant iridescent 
plumage, recalling Emily's exquisite descrip- 
tion of the flight of the one which Catherine 
Linton followed. 

73 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

The Haworth moors are less lonely, now that 
so many stone quarries have been opened here, 
than in the days when the sisters walked toward 
the purple black hills and the little waterfall 
that they loved. But even so, there is some- 
thing inexpressibly weird and desolate about 
these long sweeps of gently rolling common 
edged by a line of sinuous hills which stretch 
off into more distant reaches of upland, giving 
one a sense of boundless space. To-day a leaden 
sky hung low, as if to shut in this barren treeless 
expanse from the outside world. Surely here 
were all the elements for tragedy, and as we 
thought of the parsonage with its surrounding 
gravestones, looking out upon this lonely up- 
land, we did not wonder that the sensitive, im- 
pressionable Charlotte should have written 
''Jane Eyre" and ''Shirley," or that Emily's 
wild, untrammelled imagination should have 
burned itself out in the almost inconceivable 
pages of "Wuthering Heights"! 

After an indifferent luncheon at the Black 
Bull, we spent a delightful hour in the Bronte 
Museum, which is Haworth 's memorial to its 
gifted daughter. Here are a number of letters 
and personal effects of Charlotte's, and a silk 
gown with a bayadere stripe of plum color 
and brown, which rather dismal garment is 

74 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

marked ^^ Charlotte Bronte's wedding dress." 
But we had it on Mrs. Gaskell's authority that 
the bride wore a white embroidered muslin and 
a white bonnet trimmed with green leaves, in 
which she looked *4ike a snowdrop," and so we 
were only willing to accept the plum-colored 
silk as a going away gown, although ready to 
believe, as the card further stated, that ** Those 
who saw the wedding said she tripped along 
like a little fairy." 

The fairy boots in which the bride tripped 
along, we saw later in the house of a daughter 
of one of Mr. Bronte's parishioners. Such tiny 
boots they were, what used to be called gaiters, 
laced up the sides and made of a piece of the 
plum-colored silk. The fairy gaiters and a pair 
of stays, long and cruelly stiff as to bones, and 
about large enough in the waist for a robust 
doll, gave us a realizing sense of the fragile 
figure and small stature of the modest little 
authoress who went up to the great city of Lon- 
don to visit her publishers, — so simple and 
country-like with all her genius ! 

For some reason, the plum-colored gown and 
the tiny boots brought tears to my eyes, even 
more than the tablet in Haworth Church, per- 
haps because they made more real the brief 
period of love and wedded happiness that cast 

75 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

a sunset radiance over the shadowed life of 
Charlotte Bronte. In thinking of her now I find 
myself rejoicing over the few simple pleasures 
that came to the self-sacrificing daughter and 
devoted sister; her visit to her husband's fam- 
ily in Ireland, her liking for these new relations, 
and, above all, the joy that came to her from 
being cherished and cared for, she whose chief 
thought had always been for others. 

Even on the night before her wedding poor 
Charlotte had a serious disappointment. When 
all was finished, her trunk packed and the wed- 
ding dress ready to put on, Mr. Bronte an- 
nounced his intention of stopping at home while 
the others went to the church. As there was 
no one else to give away the bride Miss Wooller, 
her old teacher, offered her services and so the 
wedding was not delayed. Can you imagine 
a father being so disagreeable when he had 
finally, and after many months of uncertainty, 
given his consent to the marriage? 

Our last visit was to Haworth Church, which 
is quite changed and is now a large modern 
building, with nothing left of the old church 
except the tower. The tablet to the Bronte 
sisters is on the wall at the west end of the 
church, and quite near the chancel Charlotte was 
buried. Upon the tablet is the simple in- 

76 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

scription, ''Charlotte, wife of the Rev. Arthur 
Bell Nicholls, A.B/' The verger told us that 
the brass tablet in memory of Charlotte and 
Emily was given by a London gentleman when 
the church was rebuilt. A wreath of flowers, 
now faded and brown, had been placed over 
Charlotte's grave to which a card is attached 
upon which is written, ''With the homage of 
B. C. and V. A. Wilberforce [Basil and Vir- 
ginia Wilberforce], September 19th, 1899.'' 
This is the Canon Wilberforce whose preach- 
ing interested us so much at St. John's, 
Westminster. 

On our way back to Keighley we met the 
rector of a neighboring parish and had a 
pleasant talk with him. He regretted our dis- 
appointment in not being able to get into the 
parsonage and gave us his card which, he said, 
"would admit us upon our next visit to 
Haworth." Our next visit! Does one ever 
come again to these little out-of-the-way spots, 
dear as they are with all their interesting asso- 
ciations? This reverend gentleman, Mr. Law- 
rence by name, was quite willing to talk about 
the Brontes, as are all the people hereabouts, 
they having brought renown and many visitors 
to this obscure little Yorkshire village. He 
said, that he had always thought Emily the 

77 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

most remarkable and entirely individual of the 
sisters. ^* Shrinking from strangers, except 
when forced to go among them to earn her 
share of the family expenses, she always re- 
turned to the wild solitude of the moors with 
delight. It was quite evident," he said, *'from 
some of the scenes and characters described in 
^Wuthering Heights,' that Emily's imagination 
had been impressed by tales and traditions that 
had reached her ears of the rude and primitive 
life of Yorkshire during the early years of the 
century, when cock-fighting was a favorite 
pastime in the West Eiding and the cruel sport 
of bull-baiting was still practiced." Mr. Law- 
rence said that Mrs. Gaskell's story of the York- 
shire squire who was so addicted to cock-fight- 
ing that while he was ill with a mortal disease 
he had mirrors so arranged that he could see 
the game from his bed was not exaggerated. 
Another tale that he told us of a certain squire 
who was in the habit of securing privacy in his 
house by firing indiscriminately at any one who 
threatened to disturb his peace, reminded us 
of Mrs. Gaskell's description of the remarkable 
manner in which Mr. Bronte was wont to work 
off his superfluous emotions. The firing of a 
succession of pistol shots by her husband seems 
to have been so common an occurrence that deli- 

78 



ZELPHINE'S WEDDING JOURNEY 

cate Mrs. Bronte, lying on her bed upstairs, 
hearing the quick explosions below and knowing 
that something was wrong, would say to her 
nurse, with the sweet submissiveness in which 
English women seem to excel, *^ Ought I not to 
be thankful that he never gave me an angry 
wordr' 

When we think of the examples of ungov- 
erned human nature that Emily Bronte en- 
countered in her own family, her eccentric 
father and her passionate, unhappy brother, 
and hearing Mr. Lawrence's tale of the rude- 
ness of the Yorkshire life sixty years ago, her 
Heathcliif and Earnshaws do not seem as im- 
possible as when we read about them by our 
peaceful firesides at home. We shall never re- 
gret this day with the Brontes, and are glad 
that we have seen their moors, which, lonely as 
they seem to us, possessed for the sisters a 
divine beauty. 



IV 

IN WARWICKSHIRE 



Wakwick, July 21st. 

Since writing to you, dear Margaret, we 
have changed all of our plans, which you and 
I once decided was the most congenial occupa- 
tion for a traveller, and we are indulging in 
what the English call ^^bad geography." In- 
stead of going directly from Keighley to York, 
we suddenly decided to turn our faces south- 
ward, while the weather is so cool, returning 
to the North country in August. 

Here we are established in a fairly comfort- 
able place near the castle of the old King- 
maker, after spending a night in a quite 
impossible inn that was recommended to us as 
perfectly delightful. At the first place that we 
essayed, also highly recommended and a tem- 
perance hotel at that, the manager was so under 
the influence of one or more of his tabooed bev- 
erages that it was all that he could do to keep 
his balance while he talked to us. As this is 
our second experience of the sort, we have 

80 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



added an emphatic note to our list of don'ts: 
Don't ever try a temperance hotel under any 
consideration whatever. 

'*He is as happy as a lord," exclaimed Wal- 
ter, as we turned away. I wonder why it is that 
the best of men, even such as Walter, will 
persist in speaking lightly and jocosely of what 
is so absolutely degrading and beastly. When 
I ventured a remonstrance, rather tentatively, 
knowing well the aversion of the male mind to 
anything of the nature of a temperance crusade, 
Walter looked quite serious for a moment, and 
then laughingly replied that this form of ex- 
pression was probably a survival in our speech 
of the time when a man's feats in drinking were 
lauded with his prowess in arms. 

Later Walter illustrated his theory by point- 
ing out the huge caldron in Warwick Castle 
called Guy's Porridge Pot, saying, **You see, 
Zelphine, whatever the drink happened to be, 
those doughty old fellows drank it oif in deep 
draughts." 

The caldron holds about a hundred and 
twenty gallons and was probably a garrison 
cooking pot, made for Sir John Talbot, the one 
to whom the familiar old couplet refers: 

" There^s nothing left of Talbot's name 
But Talbot's pot and Talbot's lane." 

6 81 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

As we were wandering about the streets this 
morning, feeling homeless and houseless in this 
strange town, having sent our luggage to the 
railway station and not yet having secured an 
abiding place, we suddenly found ourselves at 
the entrance of the Church of St. Mary. After 
admiring the handsome r credos of black and 
white marble, and examining the remarkable 
tomb of the first Thomas Beauchamp and his 
Countess, whose effigies are surrounded by over 
thirty niches containing figures supposed to 
represent relatives of the noble Earl, we turned 
our steps towards the magnificent Beauchamp 
Chapel, which you and I enjoyed so much one 
rainy morning five years ago. Walter had 
never seen this chapel and was delighted with 
it, of course, and especially enthusiastic over 
the tomb of Eichard Beauchamp, Earl of War- 
wick, the founder, who died in 1499. Here, as 
almost everywhere, the old workmanship is so 
much finer than the modern. You may remem- 
ber this really noble monument of gray marble 
with its effigy of the Earl in gilt brass, sur- 
rounded by fourteen noble and titled weepers 
in their respective niches, the male weepers in 
mantles or mourning habits and the women in 
low-cut bodices with mitred head-dresses and 
short mourning tippets hanging over their 

82 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



backs. The Earl is represented in full armor, 
his head resting upon a tilting helmet, near it 
a brass swan, the white swan of Avon, and at 
his feet the muzzled bear and griffin of his an- 
cient line. 

The tomb of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leices- 
ter, and his second wife, is quite near, very 
ornate, as you may remember, but much less 
beautiful than that of Richard Beauchamp, with 
a massive superstructure and under it a semi- 
circular recess, which contains a long Latin 
inscription, and orders without end, French and 
English. Here lies the once powerful favorite 
of Queen Elizabeth, with all his honors, titles 
and armorial bearings emblazoned upon his 
tomb, and along the sides of this remarkable 
structure are arched canopies containing small 
figures representing the virtues, and above all 
and quite as appropriate, the motto, ** Droit et 
loyal." 

I remember how indignant you were at the 
thought of the noble Lady Lettice lying here in 
this gorgeous tomb beside her Lord, while the 
disowned and rejected Amy Robsart, quite as 
truly Lady Dudley, lies unhonored beneath the 
chancel of St. Mary's Church in Oxford. It is 
some satisfaction to know that the rich and 
tasteless monument was erected by ^*the ex- 

83 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

cellent and pious Lady Lettice" herself, who 
survived her husband by many years, and also 
that one has to come to Warwick to be reminded 
that such a person existed, while, thanks to 
Sir Walter Scott, the beauty and the sorrows of 
Amy Eobsart are known wherever the English 
language is spoken. 

We were reading the Latin inscription on the 
recess back of the tomb and trying to identify 
the several virtues that adorned the canopy, 
when a familiar voice behind us exclaimed: 
*^A11 of the virtues, indeed! If the Earl of 
Leicester possessed the virtues, I should like 
to know where the vices are to be found !" We 
turned, to find Miss Cassandra West and Lydia 
Mott standing behind us. Nothing could have 
been more opportune, although we were not, 
as Walter explained, like the newly married 
couple in one of Marion Crawford's novels, 
ready to welcome any outside distraction 
whether from friend or foe. Aside from our 
genuine liking for Miss West and her pretty 
niece, she proved herself again the Peterkin's 
^^Lady from Philadelphia" and at once set 
about solving our riddles. Not only did Miss 
Cassandra provide us with accommodations in 
the hotel in which she was stopping, but she 
made up our minds for us as well, a really val- 

H 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



uable service to a traveller and a great saving 
of time. We had not been able to decide 
whether we should devote this brilliantly beau- 
tiful day to Kenilworth or to Stratford. So 
few perfectly clear days had fallen to our lot 
of late that Walter declares that when we have 
one it goes to our heads like champagne and 
confuses us, and here was dear Miss Cassandra 
coming to our rescue with a carriage and well- 
arranged plan for a morning at Kenilworth. 

We were soon bowling along, over fine roads 
and through a fertile, well-wooded country by 
Guy's Cliff, the castle of the gigantic slayer of 
the legendary dun cow. The best view of this 
picturesque castle is to be had from the ruins 
of an old mill near the road, which is itself 
interesting as dating back to Saxon England. 
Later and more peaceful associations of Guy's 
Cliff House are connected with the tragic actress 
Mrs. Siddons, who lived here in her youth, and 
with the young artist Greatheed. The property 
is now the seat of Lord Percy, and the house is 
shown to visitors in the absence of the family. 
Our driver informed us, with an air of author- 
ity, that the house was not to be seen as the 
family was now in residence, and that his 
brother was head gardener at the Cliff House. 

** Evidently a very important position," said 

85 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Walter, ^^ about next to the Lord Chancellor's." 
The man, for whom this remark was not in- 
tended, heard it and assented with a smiling 
countenance, not possessing a particularly keen 
sense of humor, or thinking perhaps that the 
comparison referred to Lord Percy himself. 

Kenilworth, like fair Melrose, to be seen 
aright should be visited by the pale moonlight ; 
but even in the garish light of day the castle 
lends itself to the history and romance that 
are inseparably associated with its ruinous 
chambers and massive ivy-grown walls. 

Having entered through Leicester's gate- 
house and passed on by the Norman keep, we 
crossed the ancient kitchen in which feasts were 
prepared for Queen Elizabeth and her retinue, 
and on to the great banqueting hall in which 
they were served. This noble hall with its two 
beautiful, almost perfect oriel windows, was 
built by John of Gaunt, ' ^ the time-honored Lan- 
caster." Quite near is the Strong Tower or 
Mervyn's Tower, whose small octagonal room 
on the second floor is still to be reached by a 
narrow winding stone stairway. It was in this 
room that Sir Walter Scott placed Lady Amy 
Dudley when she made her ill-starred journey 
to Kenilworth under the protection of Wayland. 
The room, :with its stone floors and thick walls, 

86 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



looks like a prison, although from the window 
there is a charming view of an orchard and gar- 
den which now occupy the site of what was once 
the Pleasance. It was in this Pleasance, then 
** decorated with statues, arches, trophies, foun- 
tains, and other architectural monuments, " that 
Tressilian wandered, paying little heed to the 
beauties of nature and art which surrounded 
him, his mind being absorbed by thoughts of his 
lost love, Amy, whom he knew to be in danger, 
but in how great danger, or how near to him at 
that moment, he was quite ignorant. 

As I stood in the little tower chamber looking 
out upon the Pleasance with its orchard and 
garden, and upon the reaches of green meadow 
beyond, my mind, like Tressilian 's, quite filled 
with thoughts of Amy Robsart, a voice that 
seemed to come from the floor below, an infi- 
nitely pathetic voice, broke forth in these words : 

Now nought was heard beneath the skies, 
The sounds of busy life were still, 

Save an unhappy lady's sighs, 
That issued from that lonely pile. 

"Leicester," she cried, "is this thy love 
That thou so oft hast sworn to me, 
To leave me in this lonely grove, 
Immured in shameful privity ? " 



87 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 



Thus sore and sad that lady grieved, 
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear; 

And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved. 
And let fall many a bitter tear. 

And ere the dawn of day appeared, 
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, 

Full many a piercing scream was heard. 
And many a cry of mortal fear. 

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring. 
An aerial voice was heard to call, 

And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing 
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. 



Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd. 
And pensive wept the Countess' fall, 

As wandering onwards they've espied 
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. 

The lines so perfectly fitted the scene, and 
I was so completely under the spell of Kenil- 
worth and the Northern Wizard who described 
it, that I never stopped to think whether the 
voice was of the past or of the present; there 
may have been tears in my eyes, I do not know, 
I only know that I was aroused from my sad 
reverie by Walter's voice at my side, saying 
very gently, ''Don't take it quite so hard, Zel- 
phine; you know that Amy never really came 

88 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



to Kenilworth, and the great pageant took 
place long after her death.'' 

'^I don't care," I said; **Sir Walter Scott 
pictured her here and I shall always think of 
her in this little room, no matter what dates 
and facts say about it. And those verses — did 
you ever hear anything so weird and touching T' 

'^The ghost of the Ladye Amye," said Wal- 
ter. **She does not appear by daylight, she 
only recites." 

**]Srow, really, Walter, do you think that some 
one is kept here to repeat those verses when 
parties of visitors arrive?" 

**Aunt Cassie has a wonderful memory," said 
Lydia Mott, her head just then appearing above 
the stairway, as if in answer to my question, * ' and 
she always seems to have her poetry on tap." 

Something more than a good memory, a gift 
of sympathy and a power that we should call 
dramatic if she were not a good Quakeress, 
enabled Miss Cassandra to enter so completely 
into the spirit of the place and its associations 
and so to carry us with her (Walter, too, despite 
his jesting) that the years were swept aside like 
a veil and we shared for the moment Amy Eob- 
sart's sorrows, her hopes, and her fears. 

WTien we questioned Miss Cassandra about 
the poem, she said that it was to be found in 

89 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Evan's Ancient Ballads, that Walter Scott had 
been impressed by it in his boyhood, and that 
it first attracted him to the sad story of Amy 
Robsart. It is odd that she is called Countess 
of Leicester in the ballad and in Sir Walter 
Scott's novel, although she was only Lady Dud- 
ley, as it appears that Eobert Dudley did not 
receive his title of Earl Leicester until after 
the death of his first wife. 

We selfishly rejoiced that no other tourists or 
** trippers" were at Kenilworth to-day to dis- 
turb our reveries, and, a rather quiet party, we 
drove away from this monument of the Earl of 
Leicester's pride, his ambition, and his heart- 
less cruelty. 

Miss Cassandra suggested a drive to Cumnor 
Hall while our minds were filled with thoughts 
of Amy Eobsart, but the driver's common sense 
acted as a check to our enthusiasm. He advised 
us to visit Cumnor from Oxford, a drive of 
about four miles from that town; but, with an 
amiable desire to humor our fancies, he sug- 
gested an afternoon excursion to the Leicester 
Hospital at the west end of High Street, where 
some relics of Lady Amye Dudley, as her name 
is written in some of the old chronicles, are 
still to be seen. 

**By all means!" exclaimed Miss Cassandra. 

90 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



'^Let us go to the Hospital and see something 
good that Leicester has left behind him. We 
have seen quite enough of the evil. Did you 
notice the tomb and effigy of his little deformed 
son at St. Mary's? The child's rich gown is 
decorated with fleur-de-lys, cinquefoils, and 
ragged staves, a collar of lace is around his 
neck, and his poor little feet rest upon the 
muzzled bear of the Beauchamps. The inscrip- 
tion, — perhaps you did not stop to read it, — 
proclaims ' this noble impe scion Eobert of Dud- 
ley, Baron of Denbigh, sonne of Robert, Earl 
of Leycester, nephew and heir unto Ambrose, 
Erie of Warwike,' then there follows a line of 
titled and princely ancestors and kinsfolk 
longer than the four-year-old child himself." 

Yes, we had noticed the tomb of the ** noble 
impe," and we were wondering whether this 
was Leicester's only child, as he seems to have 
left no heir to his many titles and vast estates. 

' 'Perhaps," said Miss West, with whom it 
seemed impossible to look long on the dark side 
of any character, *4t was the sufferings and 
early death of this little son that softened the 
heart of the Earl, and led him to do something 
to lighten the burdens of humanity." 

In view of these charitable reflections, we 
were in a most suitable frame of mind to visit 

91 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Leicester's foundation; but we did not go to the 
hospital this afternoon, as our coachman made 
still another suggestion. A garden party was 
being given in the grounds of "Warwick Castle 
this very day, an excellent opportunity, he said, 
to see the park and gardens at their best. 

If it was our pleasure, our Jehu would drive 
us to the old stone bridge over the Avon, from 
which there is a fine view of the castle, and 
afterwards take us to a little garden cafe for 
our luncheon. 

Of course it was our pleasure to fall in with 
a plan so well arranged. The view of Warwick 
Castle from the Avon bridge is superb. No cas- 
tle that we have seen elsewhere, no palace of a 
sovereign, exceeds in stately beauty this ancient 
home of Eichard Neville, the King-maker, or 
more perfectly fulfils our conception of what the 
stronghold of a great and powerful baron 
should be. You and I saw Warwick Castle 
through mist and rain, but standing out in the 
sunshine to-day, its gray machicolated towers 
and long line of battlements outlined against a 
sky of delicate steel blue, with a foreground of 
verdant meadow-land through which the silver 
Avonflows softly, it presented to our eyes a scene 
of ideal beauty, only made real by the massive- 
ness of its stone walls and huge buttresses. 

92 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



A day away from lodging-houses and inns is 
in itself a delight, and the simple luncheon 
served to us in the little garden cafe under the 
shadow of the castle walls was more than satis- 
fying. As we lingered over our plum tart, 
Walter proposed the health of the coachman, 
who was standing near the entrance gate. This 
we drank in ginger beer of the landlady's own 
make. We wondered why she looked so pleased, 
smiling and blushing, as she stood before us 
opening the bottles, until Miss West, with her 
clever way of getting at the root of things, 
discovered that the coachman, whom we were 
toasting in his own beer, was her husband. 
Could a Yankee from the land of the wooden 
nutmeg have done better 1 The additional drive 
to the bridge over the Avon, the dinner at the 
inn, and perhaps a share of the fee of a shilling 
from each one as we entered the grounds, were 
all admirably arranged. 

*'Well, I 'm satisfied to have him make some- 
thing oif us," said Miss Cassandra, as we 
passed the embattled gateway and into a wind- 
ing road cut out of the solid rock. **He has 
added so much to our pleasure. Nothing could 
be more delightful than this, and after all, when 
you reflect upon it, where did the Yankees come 
from, if not from England?" 

93 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Miss Cassandra's conundrum would probably 
have led to an animated discussion under ordi- 
nary circumstances, but the view from the outer 
court of Guy's Tower rising before us on one 
side and Caesar's Tower on the other, both an- 
cient and massive yet exquisitely symmetrical, 
claimed our attention to the exclusion of every- 
thing else. "Walter was much interested in the 
boldly projecting machicolations near the top 
of Caesar's Tower and the sloping base from 
which, he says, missiles thrown from the top 
would be deflected into the ranks of the attack- 
ing party — a most ingenious device! 

The gateway with its barbican was once pro- 
tected by a drawbridge. Now the ancient moat 
is bridged by an arch. 

^'If only this drawbridge were in working 
order we could feel that we were living over 
again the pages of Scott!" I exclaimed, as we 
passed over the arch and through the second 
gate. 

^'You have lived quite enough in the pages 
of Scott to-day, Zelphine. The present scene 
is more wholesome and far more to my taste," 
said Walter, as the great gates swung open, 
revealing to our eyes a vista of enchanting 
loveliness. I wish I could give you some idea 
of the beauty of that sylvan scene ; a combina- 

94 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



tion of the richest exuberance of nature and the 
most skilful cultivation. You know that I love 
the wild beauty of our own forests and the rich 
verdure of our pasture-lands, but really, — now 
don't laugh at me, — I felt that I had never seen 
trees or grass before. Our feet sank into the 
greensward so far, that I was afraid they would 
never come out again, and the great cedars of 
Lebarion and the giant oaks and beeches reach- 
ing out their sheltering arms made refreshing 
coverts from the afternoon sun. The peacocks 
strutting about under the trees, with their 
grand and stately air, gave the needed touch of 
color and animation to the picture. At the other 
end of this vast park there was life and anima- 
tion to spare, for here were the marquees in 
which vegetables, flowers, and fruit were ex- 
hibited. The space around them was thronged 
with judges, competitors, and a large company 
of spectators, including many ^^ trippers" and 
tourists like ourselves. 

We spent little time over the huge cabbages 
and overgrown turnips and marrows in the 
marquees, but the wall-fruit, the exquisite 
peaches and plums, flanked by the most gor- 
geous roses, dahlias, foxgloves and other flow- 
ers of brilliant hue, held us fast by their beauty 
and fragrance. 

9# 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

The Countess of Warwick was not present 
to-day, to our regret, but we had the pleasure 
of seeing her sister, Lady Gordon Lenox, giv- 
ing prizes for the fruit, flowers, and vegetables. 
She was charming in a mauve gown and large 
black hat, and with her mother and a young 
daughter of the Countess of Warwick, the Vis- 
countess Hammersley, in white muslin and blue 
ribbons, the trio presented a most attractive 
picture of three generations of aristocrats. 
However it may please certain democratic 
Americans to 

" Smile at the claims of long descent," 

there is a certain indefinable quality that be- 
longs to these high-born Englishwomen, some- 
thing in their exquisite dignity and repose, that 
stamps them with the *^ caste of Vere de Vere/' 

We quite enjoyed this scene from high life, 
and the form and ceremony attending the 
presentation of the prizes. Miss Cassandra as 
much as the younger and more frivolous mem- 
bers of the party, for Quaker as she is, she 
dearly loves a bit of purple. 

In passing through the gTeat hall of the 
castle, where, by the flickering light of torches. 
Piers Gaveston was tried and condemned to 
death, and in the state dining-room, we saw 

96 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



many portraits of high-born dames, none more 
beautiful to our thinking than that of the pres- 
ent Countess of Warwick. Before quitting the 
Castle we walked around by the conservatory 
to see the famous ^^ Warwick Vase," which 
came from Hadrian's Villa. You will be seeing 
the villa soon. Ah ! what interesting and beau- 
tiful things are to be seen in this round world ! 
One would surely need to be in two places at 
once to compass them all in the brief span of 
life that is ours ! 

July 22nd. 

A fine rain was falling this morning, which 
did not prevent our taking the coach to Strat- 
ford, nor did it interfere with our comfort, as 
we were well protected, and by the time we 
reached our journey's end the sun was shining 
fitfully. As we had both been to Stratford be- 
fore, we had the delightful feeling of owing it 
no obligation as sightseers. Strolling at will 
through the quaint old streets, with their many 
timbered houses, we realized as never before 
how entirely this town is shut otf from the 
ordinary business of life, and how complete it is 
in itself as the shrine of the poet of all time, 
whose name we found, with singular inappro- 
priateness, inscribed upon the burial records 
of the church as ^^Will Shakespeare, Gent," 
7 97 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

**The ancient is absolutely on top here," as 
Walter expresses it, *^and there is nothing new 
but the Jubilee Walk, the great bridge over the 
Avon, the Memorial Fountain, and a few trifles, 
upon which it is easy to turn our backs and 
forget that we are living in the present 
century. ' ' 

At this moment, as if to contradict his words, 
and just as we were entering the Shakespeare 
house on Henley Street, a sound of many voices 
reached our ears, and turning we saw a host 
of Cook's tourists ready and able to overcome, 
by their numbers and quality, the most pene- 
trating and romantic associations. One voice 
rising above the others reached our ears: 
**Well, I have sometimes felt like believing in 
the Bacon theory, but this old house and the 
grave in the church knocks Bacon *into a cocked 
hat.' '' 

We agreed with the speaker entirely and yet 
we were not disposed to claim her as a 
countrywoman. 

**They have evidently been to the church," 
said Walter, in a tone of relief. '^Let us go 
there first and come back to the house when 
peace has been restored." 

The lime avenue is as beautiful as ever, and 
the old elms and the Gothic bridge and the 

98 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



poetry and charm of the church, as it stands 
upon the Avon near where it *^to the Severn 
flows. '^ We stopped to examine the sanctuary 
knocker to whose great iron ring many a fugi- 
tive has doubtless clung and found protection; 
but once inside the church we felt, with Wash- 
ington Irving, that it was impossible to dwell 
upon anything that is not connected with 
Shakesi3eare. **His idea pervades the place; 
the whole pile seems but as his mausoleum. 
The feelings no longer checked and thwarted 
by doubt, here indulge in perfect confidence." 
Standing in the chancel we blessed the grue- 
some inscription upon the flat stone in the floor, 
which has prevented and will forever prevent 
the removing of the ashes of the poet to any 
less fitting spot. Walking afterwards by the 
soft flowing Avon, by whose 

" silver stream 
Of things raore than mortal sweet, Shakespeare would 
dream," 

we enjoyed the indescribable beauty of the 
miniature scene, the picturesque old church on 
the river, and the Memorial Building which is 
really fine and needs only the softening touch 
of time to subdue its color into a hue more in 
harmony with its surroundings. 

99 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

We went to the Eed Horse Hotel because 
Washington Irving had stopped there, and saw 
a chair that he sat in, and the poker with which 
he stirred the fire, when he asked himself, 
^' Shall I not take mine ease in mine innT' 

The Eed Horse was not a place for ease or 
comfort to-day, as it was infested by American 
tourists of the class that excited Mr. Edgar 
Fawcett's wrath when he wrote about those 
*'who seat themselves on the ruins of the 
Acropolis at Athens and discuss the probable 
engagement of Jane Briggs, the belle of East 
Brighamyoungtown, Utah, to James Diggs, an 
acknowledged Beau Brummel of the same 
village. ' ' 

**I wonder why they came,'' I said, not ex- 
pecting an answer, but rather thinking aloud. 

*^Many of them for the sake of having been 
to Shakespeare's town," said Walter, while a 
pleasant-faced English lady, who was standing 
near us, said, *^Do you know that of the thirty 
thousand and more visitors who come to Strat- 
ford annually nearly a fourth are your com- 
patriots T' 

We did not know this and quite agreed with 
the speaker that these tourists were doing a 
good work in helping to keep up this place. As 
we walked toward a little tea-house, where our 

100 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



new acquaintance told' us we should find a good 
luncheon and the blessing of a quiet room, she 
remarked quite seriously, *' Americans seem 
quite different to what they used to be. They 
used to talk like English people, but now so 
many of them had a lingo of their own,'^ 
concluding, with a rising inflection of her deli- 
cious voice, ^^Is it not soT' There was noth- 
ing in the slightest degree rude in the lady's 
question, as in some indefinable and graceful 
fashion, only possible to the well bred, she gave 
us to understand that she did not include us in 
her query. We tried to explain to her that the 
American en voyage is not always the best 
representative of his nation, and Walter said 
that she had probably been so unfortunate as to 
meet some of our compatriots who had made 
money rapidly and had not enjoyed educational 
advantages equal to their fortunes, adding, 
*^ These men and women belong to a class which 
in England would not travel extensively. With 
us, it is different; the American who makes 
money usually has an ambition to see the world. 
These people may appear crude and ignorant, 
but they will learn something before they go 
away, and even the superficial knowledge that 
they gain of your older civilizations will stimu- 
late them to read and study at home, and their 

101 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

children will come to these old countries better 
prepared to appreciate what they see. ' ' 

The lady exclaimed, ^* Really! fancy!'' with 
the most charming expression of interest and 
intelligence, but I doubt her grasping the situa- 
tion at all; it is so impossible for English people 
to understand America and Americans. Wasn't 
it fine of Walter to rise so valiantly to the sup- 
port of his unappreciated compatriots whom we 
have been dodging all morning? 

We had an hour in the Shakespeare house — 
such a comfortable looking old house it is! 
The home of well-to-do people, I should say. You 
surely remember the great fireplace with the 
closets for hanging the bacon on each side, and 
the lovely garden at the back, set about with 
the flowers mentioned in Shakespeare's plays 
— pansies, violets, rosemary, rue, and all the 
rest. 

Anne Hathaway 's garden looked very gay, 
this afternoon, with its many old-fashioned 
flowers. I brought away some lavender for 
you, as you and I thought it the sweetest we 
had ever smelled. There is some very nice 
china and furniture in the cottage, especially a 
handsome, richly-carved bedstead with a piece 
of Anne's needlework upon it. This bedstead 
is quite worthy of the **best feather bed," 

102 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



which, according to Dr. Furness, Anne already- 
owned when her husband left her the much- 
talked-of ** second best feather bed.'^ Most 
interesting of all is the room on the first floor 
with the settle by the fireplace where William 
and Anne were wont to sit during their court- 
ship. Do I believe in all of these associations? 
Yes, you know well that I have never joined the 
ever increasing army of doubters who are al- 
most as bad as the Baconians. When Walter 
and I were looking over some of the earlier 
editions of the plays in the Shakespeare house, 
it seemed to us that everything could be proved 
from these old folios. One interested us espe- 
cially, a volume of 1623 which belonged to one 
Digges; on the fly-leaf are some verses about 
the deceased author, Mr. William Shakespeare, 
which I tried to copy for you and which I failed 
to do because the writing is so difficult and the 
spelling so original. 

Oxford, July 23rd. 

We have come here to meet Miss Cassandra 
and Miss Lydia and take the drive to Cumnor. 
Before we left Warwick, this morning, we made 
our visit to the Lord Leycester Hospital, as they 
call it there, a most interesting old foundation 
for twelve poor brothers. The quaint, half- 
timbered building, with its many gables, is of 

103 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

earlier date than the rest of the hospital, and 
the old quadrangle is very picturesque. 
Leicester's cognizance is frequently repeated 
throughout the building, but what interested 
us particularly were the memorials of Amy 
Dudley, an elaborate piece of needlework by 
her, and, strange to relate, framed and hung 
up on one side of the wall are the selfsame 
verses that Miss Cassandra repeated to us at 
Kenilworth. 

We drove to Cumnor this afternoon. It is 
only four miles from Oxford, and I here and 
now frankly confess that we were grievously 
disappointed. Even the old inn where Tressi- 
lian stopped is quite different from the fascinat- 
ing five-gabled house, with the sign of the bear 
and ragged staff on a high pole, as it appears 
in the illustrated editions of Kenilworth. An- 
thony Foster's house has suffered the fate of 
the dwellings of the wicked in the Scriptures; 
there is absolutely nothing left of it except an 
old fireplace. 

The church, which is quite near the house, 
and very ancient, is the only building in good 
condition. Here we found a curious statue of 
Queen Elizabeth, said to have been sculptured 
by order of the Earl of Leicester. It once stood 
as an ornament in the gardens of Cumnor Place, 

104 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



one of his many compliments to his royal mis- 
tress. The stone figure seemed strangely out of 
place in this old church of St. MichaePs; but 
still more incongruous is the handsome monu- 
ment in memory of Anthony Foster and his 
wife, with kneeling figures, blazonings and a 
laudatory inscription, in which he is described 
as, 

" Meet Scion of a gentle ancestry, 
The Lord of Cumnor Berks, was Anthony." 

Upon reading these words, and the several 
compliments inscribed upon the tomb. Miss Cas- 
sandra's indignation knew no bounds, and, as 
she says, *^Why should Leicester have placed 
such an inscription over Anthony Foster if not 
to cover up his own guilt f Even if it cannot 
be proved that he and Leicester connived at 
the death of Amy Dudley, the circumstances 
surrounding it were most suspicious. All the 
servants were away from Cumnor Place at the 
time, and coming home late from the Abingdon 
Fair they found poor Amy's dead body upon 
the floor at the foot of a flight of steps. There 
were tales of some insecure boards in the floor- 
ing of her room, so placed that they would give 
way at the pressure of the lightest foot-fall, 
but nothing was proved at the trial and now 
Cumnor Hall is level with the ground and can 

105 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

tell no tales. Is it not all gisuesome and sad? 
And as if to make these tragic associations with 
Amy Dudley more real, we are living nearly 
opposite the church of St. Mary the Virgin, in 
whose choir she is buried; and one of the scenes 
represented in the great historic pageant held 
here early in the summer was her funeral pro- 
cession. Passing through the streets through 
which the cortege passed in September, 1560, 
from Gloucester Hall to St. Mary's, the Vice 
Chancellor leading and a number of the mem- 
bers of the University in gowns and hoods 
walking beside the coffin, bearing heraldic ban- 
ners, the scene must have been much more im- 
pressive than such representations usually 
are. All the records prove that Lord Dudley 
did not follow his wife's body to the grave, 
consequently he was not a figure in this pro- 
cession, although he was conspicuous in some 
gayer scenes, as when Queen Elizabeth was 
received at Oxford and at Kenilworth. 

The town still resoimds with echoes of the 
pageant, and the shop windows are filled with 
pictures and pamphlets about it. A young man 
in one of the book-shops told me with pride that 
he had taken the part of the Lord Chancellor. 
Some English dowagers in the hotel, large, 
florid dames, with such structures of tulle and 

106 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



flowers upon their heads as are only to be found 
in the British Isles, showed an amiable desire 
to converse with us this evening. We asked 
them some questions about the pageant, of 
iwhich they had spoken several times. They 
g§ive us the desired information, but in a tone 
of evident condescension and with so marked 
a note of contempt for a nation that could not 
boast its thousands of years of history, that 
Lydia Mott's freeborn American spirit was 
thoroughly aroused and she suddenly sailed in 
and had what Walter calls ^^her innings. '* 
Lydia is one of the rare people who do not 
speak unless they have something to say, when 
she does speak it is to some purpose, and upon 
this occasion she waxed eloquent. 

After expatiating upon the picturesqueness 
of our American Indian life, she described at 
length our own pageant in commemoration of 
the two hundredth anniversary of the settle- 
ment of Pennsylvania. Although she must have 
been a child at the time, she remembered all 
the details far better than I did. 

** And where did those settlers that you speak 
of come fromT' asked the first dowager, 

**From England,'' replied Lydia, somewhat 
surprised at the question, and then rallying 
to the charge. **They were Quakers who were 

107 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

so badly treated in England that they had to 
come to x\merica for protection/' 

'*Fancy!'' exclaimed the second dowager. *'I 
think I have heard of the Quakers. They wore 
strange clothes and spoke quite ungrammati- 
cally, I believe." 

'*I don't know about that," replied Lydia, 
nothing daunted; **that is, after all, quite a 
matter of opinion." 

Miss Cassandra looked unutterable things at 
me, but kept her lips firmly closed. 

Lydia then proceeded to outline certain 
pageants that could be given in America. The 
landing of John Smith and his company at 
Jamestown; the arrival of the Plymouth Set- 
tlers; William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, 
and the surrender of Yorktown. The latter 
scene was described with so much spirit that 
the dowagers might have taken it for granted 
that Lydia had been present at the ceremony. 
But alas for the narrator and her eloquence! 
The first dowager, instead of expressing intel- 
ligent interest, or looking the least bit crest- 
fallen over the superlative importance of 
American antiquities, said, with an inquiring 
look in her eyes and a rising inflection in her 
voice, ** Yorktown? We never say Yorktown; 
it is just York; it is a very ancient city, once 

108 



IN WARWICKSHIRE 



occupied by the Romans. They say that one 
of the Roman emperors built the walls. Per- 
haps he is the one who surrendered." 

Can you imagine such density? Lydia was 
speechless, at last, but an intelligent looking 
young Englishman, who had been listening to 
the conversation, explained to his country- 
woman that the surrender had taken place in 
America and was of comparatively recent oc- 
currence. Then, his British pride being touched 
by Lydia 's patriotic harangue, he very adroitly 
took up the cudgels for his own country by 
saying that the officer to whom Lord Cornwallis 
had surrendered at Yorktown was really an 
Englishman, his family only having been in 
America for two or three generations. Clever, 
was it not? Turning again to Lydia, he said 
very civilly, *^I have never been in the States, 
but I have been in Canada and in the citadel at 
Quebec, on the summit of that almost impreg- 
nable natural fortress, which our General Wolfe 
captured from the French, I saw a cannon which 
was taken by us from the Americans at Bun- 
ker Hill." 

**Yes," said Miss Cassandra, suddenly en- 
tering the arena, **the British may have taken 
the cannon, but we kept the hill!" 

A hearty laugh followed this rejoinder and 

109 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

the Englishman, with a good humor and cour- 
tesy that won our admiration, bowed to Miss 
Cassandra, saying, *'I have heard much of 
Axaerican valor; but of American wit I have 
now had a practical illustration.'' Was it not 
delightful to have our Quaker lady come off 
with such flying colors I And so, in gay good 
humor with our respective nations, we said 
good-night to each other, as I say it to you, 
Margaret, only wishing that you had been pres- 
ent at the war of wits. 



V 

A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



London, July 25th. 

Miss Cassandra persuaded us to accompany 
her to Stoke Poges and Jordans. We had in- 
tended to spend Sunday on Lake Windermere, 
but she says that a pilgrimage to the tomb of 
Thomas Gray and William Penn is a perfect 
Sabbath day's journey, and that I owe it to 
my Quaker ancestors to visit Jordans. As 
usual Miss Cassandra's logic and eloquence 
prevailed. I had never thought much about 
Jordans but I had always longed to see the 
Stoke Poges church, and Walter is ready to 
go where Miss Cassandra leads, she so appeals 
to his sense of humor. He says that **we are 
like Sandford and Merton with Mr. Day when 
we set forth in the company of her well-stored 
mind, only immensely jollier." 

We left Oxford by an early train, or rather 
as early a train as one can take on a Sunday 
morning, when so much diplomacy is needed 
in order to secure breakfast before nine o'clock, 

111 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

but after all our exertions we had to wait so 
long at Beading for the London train that we 
did not reach the Slough station until noon. 

Walter set about securing a conveyance while 
we ordered luncheon at the inn. The coachmen 
at the '^livery'' were all out, but fortunately 
the proprietor himself had just come in for his 
dinner and offered to drive us to Stoke Poges 
and Jordans with his own team. This was great 
good fortune for us as Mr. Croft knows the 
country well, and after we had become accus- 
tomed to his language (which is English, of 
course, but quite different from the kind spoken 
in America) we found him a most helpful and 
suggestive guide. 

We drove to the church, St. Giles, Gray's 
church, which is less than two miles from 
Slough. The approach is through a short pri- 
vate road, and by a charmingly picturesque ivy 
covered lodge, from which there is a fine view 
of Stoke Manor House in the distance, across 
a broad sweep of deer park. On a knoll to the 
right of the lodge, marking the place where the 
poet sat when he wrote the greater part of the 
Elegy, is Wyatt's ungraceful, inappropriate 
monument, which strikes the one jarring note in 
the otherwise perfectly harmonious scene. One 
can think of nothing but the Elegy here, and 

112 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



the spot where it was finished, under ^^the yew 
tree's shade'' by the quaint church porch, is 
much more to our taste. The woman in charge 
gave us a bit of the yew, which is said to be 
nine hundred years old, and showed us the 
^^ivy-mantled tower," and the tomb in which 
the author of the Elegy, his mother and his 
aunt all rest. There is a tablet upon the church 
opposite the tomb saying that Thomas Gray is 
buried here, and on the square stone vault is 
the inscription that the poet placed there, surely 
the most tender tribute from a son to his 
mother ! 

Beside her friend and sister 

here sleep the remains of 

DOROTHY GRAY, 

widow, 

the careful tender mother 

of many children, one of whom alone 

had the misfortune to survive her. 

She died March 11, 1753, 

aged 72. 

No more fitting spot than this could be found 
for a poet's last resting place, the great yew, 
the cypresses and the ivy-mantled church are a 
poem in themselves, in the lovely setting of this 
peaceful English landscape. Inside the church 
we were shown the Grays' pew, and even more 
interesting to me the large Penn pew, really 

8 113 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

a good-sized room, with a diamond-paned win- 
dow, and a large stove to heat it. In the pew 
are a half dozen beautiful old carved Penn 
chairs. I was fancying little William Penn 
seated on one of these chairs between his father 
and mother, when Miss Cassandra dispelled 
all my illusions by telling us that it was Wil- 
liam Penn's son, Thomas, who owned Stoke 
Park and worshipped in this pew with his fam- 
ily, in proof of which she showed me a tablet 
on the north wall of the church, which records 
the fact that Thomas Penn, his wife, Lady Juli- 
ana Fermor, and several children and grand- 
children are buried in the vault beneath. 

Do you remember that the guide at Windsor 
Castle pointed out the Stoke Poges Manor 
House, standing upon a distant hilltop, and 
plainly visible from the terrace, as *4he home 
in which William Penn brought up his large 
family of children'^? We knew, of course, that 
this was a mistake; but it is one that might 
readily be made by a more intelligent person 
than a guide, as so many associations with Wil- 
liam Penn belong to this Chalfont region, 
whither he came acourting his Gulielma and 
where he spent the early years of his married 
life. It would be impossible for us, who are 
under the informing tutelage of Miss Cassandra 

114 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



and Mr. Croft, to make any very serious mis- 
takes; indeed Walter says that he is so thor- 
oughly steeped in the history and traditions of 
the Penn family that he is quite prepared to 
stand examination before any historical society 
in the United States. 

There is a village of Penn and an old Penn 
church near Chalfont, but Mr. Croft assures 
us that these Penns of Bucks had no close con- 
nection with our Pennsylvania Penns, who were 
of the Wiltshire family. 

I never realized how much romance there was 
in William Penn's courtship until Miss Cas- 
sandra told us the story as we drove up hill and 
down dale to Jordans Meeting House. She has 
also introduced us to some delightful books 
which she has with her. Her dress-suit case, 
like mine, is heavy with books. In one of these, 
written by a descendant of Governor Penn, we 
found a charming picture of Gulielma Springett 
and her mother, the widow of a Puritan officer. 
Sir William Springett. After her husband's 
death Lady Springett, finding London life dis- 
tasteful to her, came to live at Chalfont St. Giles 
with her little daughter. Here she was warmly 
welcomed by a choice circle of interesting men 
and women, which often included the poet Mil- 
ton and his secretary, Thomas Ellwood. After 

115 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

several year of widowhood, Lady Springett 
married Isaac Penington, and at his home, the 
Grange, Guli, as she was called by her friends, 
a Puritan by inheritance and naturally pre- 
disposed toward a protesting religion, grew up 
a lovely Quaker maiden, beautiful and an 
heiress withal. Guli's hand was sought after 
by many young squires of the country side. 
Thomas Ellwood, who taught her Latin, was not 
insensible to the charms of the pretty Qua- 
keress, but he, as he wrote, *'ever governed 
himself in a free and respectful carriage toward 
her." Guli, fortunately for herself, held de- 
cided opinions upon the choice of a husband, 
and so this pearl of womanhood was reserved 
for the young Quaker cavalier, who met her 
at the home of her stepfather, Isaac Penington. 
There is a charming allusion to his successful 
courtship in a letter written by Penn to his wife 
and children just before his first visit to Penn- 
sylvania. After urging his children to obey 
their mother, who was, he says, * * the love of my 
youth and much the joy of my life," the good 
Proprietary indulges in this refreshing bit of 
self gratulation; **Love her, too, for she loved 
your father with a deep and upright love, choos- 
ing him before all of her many suitors." 

Is it not interesting to think of William Penn 

116 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



as young and handsome, rejoicing in his youth 
and caring somewhat for the things of this 
world? Miss Cassandra scoffs at all of our pre- 
conceived ideas of the Proprietary, who was, 
she says, not only handsome but possessed of 
rare charm of manner, and dressed like most 
young gentlemen of his time, even wearing a 
sword in his early youth, as Pepys speaks of 
his forgetting it and leaving it behind him in 
the carriage. *^Did we think,'' she asks, **that 
William Penn was born old and sedate?" Wal- 
ter reminded her of the story of the man who 
said he had '* never seen a dead donkey or a 
Quaker baby," at which our serious driver 
laughed immoderately, and so in a merry mood 
we drove down the long steep hill at whose feet, 
in a lovely, well-wooded valley, stands the 
plainest and most primitive of meeting-houses. 
We entered the enclosure through a little 
wicket gate and made our way to the small 
white headstones that mark the graves of Mary 
and Isaac Penington, Thomas Ellwood, and 
those of William Penn, his first wife, Gulielma, 
and Hannah Penn, the wise and devoted com- 
panion of his declining years; '^for whom," 
said Miss Cassandra, ^*he wrote at the time of 
his marriage that he had 'long felt an extraor- 
dinary esteem.' " '* Which is, I suppose, the 

117 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

proper and moderate language to use in speak- 
ing of a second wife, ' ' I said, not thinking much 
of what I was saying ; but Walter looked sur- 
prised and was evidently so distressed by my 
foolish words that I was sorry that I had spoken 
them, while Miss Cassandra, blissfully ignorant 
of personalities, expatiated upon the loveliness 
of Gulielma, although willing to admit that 
Hannah Callowhill was an excellent woman, and 
a judicious and helpful companion for a man 
over-burdened with cares, religious and secular. 

Near the graves of their father and mother 
are those of several children who died in in- 
fancy and that of Springett Penn, who lived 
until early manhood and was his father's de- 
voted friend and companion, a great contrast 
to roystering young William Penn, Jr., who 
*^beat the watch'' and otherwise scandalized the 
staid Quaker citizens of old Philadelphia. 

To visit Jordans with Miss Cassandra West 
is like approaching the shrine of a saint with 
a good Catholic. She was so deeply moved and 
impressed upon this, her first visit to the tombs 
of these early Friends, that she was in a quite 
ecstatic state. **My dear," she said, *^ there 
were no better Christians in the world than 
these Friends. Such men and women as Guli- 
elma and William Penn, Isaac Penington and 

118 




JORDANS WITH THE PeNN GrAVI 




Interior of Meeting House at J^ 



i 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



his wife, and Robert Barely of Ury, were sanc- 
tified spirits, and the England of their day was 
unworthy of them, whatever mistakes may have 
been made later/' Miss Cassandra is uncom- 
promisingly orthodox, and in spite of her 
breadth of mind has scant toleration for dis- 
senting Quakers. 

Walter confided to me, afterwards, that he 
and Lydia Mott had serious misgivings as to 
whether they should be able to get us away 
from the grave-yard before nightfall. They 
were anxious, as we had been an hour earlier, 
to stop at Chalfont St. Giles to see the Milton 
house and to drive through the Burnham 
Beeches by daylight. As it happened, a 
family party of English people, on bicycles, 
*^ major, minor, and minimus," arrived oppor- 
tunely, and as they were taking their pleasure 
less solemnly than ourselves, they broke in 
upon our musings with their merry talk and so 
drove us away. 

The caretaker, who with her family lives in 
a part of the meeting-house, showed us the plain 
little room in which occasional meetings are 
still held. Finally, with our hands full of pretty 
little blue and purple flowers, which they call 
* ^ Quaker ladies ' bonnets, ' ' we set forth toward 
Chalfont St. Giles. We drove by Bottrels, the 

119 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

old farmhouse in which Thomas Ellwood lived 
while he was tutoring the young Peningtons 
and acting as secretary to Milton, who was then 
living at the ^'pretty box/' a mile distant, which 
is still reached by a winding lane. We re- 
gretted that we had not more time to spend in 
this picturesque little town and in the *^ pretty 
box," in which there are a number of relics of 
the poet. It was while he was living at this 
house at Chalfont St. Giles, whither Ellwood 
had persuaded Milton to remove with his fam- 
ily from London in order to escape the Great 
Plague of 1665, that the poet finished Paradise 
Lost, When questioned as to what he thought 
of the book, Ellwood said, ^^Thou hast said 
much here of Paradise Lost, but what hast thou 
to say of Paradise regained f Later, when 
Ellwood visited Milton in London, he showed 
his visitor the second poem, and said, ^^This is 
owing to you, for you put it into my head by a 
question you put to me at Chalfont, which be- 
fore I had not thought of.'' 

The church, another St. Giles, — we are won- 
dering why the crippled saint so dominates this 
region, — ^with its Norman tower, very quaint 
old lych gate, and ancient brasses and monu- 
ments, is most interesting. We had not time 
to enjoy it thoroughly; but were glad of even 

120 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



the little glimpse that we had of it and of the 
odd, old houses near it. Lydia secured what she 
considers a precious treasure in the inscription 
from Timothy Lovett's tombstone, in the 
churchyard, which she copied. It appears that 
this Timothy Lovett, a courier, was employed 
to carry dispatches to and from the Duke of 
Marlborough during his campaigns, hence the 
lines : 

"Italy and Spain, 

Germany and France 
Have been on earth 

My weary dance. 
So that I own 

Ye grave my greatest friend, 
That to my travels 

All has put an end." 

From the churchyard there is a fine view of 
the Stone Meadows, where a cricket match was 
in full swing, which, of course, interested Wal- 
ter, especially when Mr. Croft told him that a 
famous cricketing family, the Hearns, are na- 
tives of Chalfont St. Giles. What interested 
me more was to know that Oliver CromwelPs 
army had spent the night here after the bat- 
tles of Aylesbury and camped under the great 
elms. 

We had not even a half hour for Beaconsfield, 
although it was on our homeward route, and 

121 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

I should have loved to visit the tomb of Edmund 
Burke and to have stopped to place a rose upon 
that of Waller in memory of his ^^Go, lovely- 
rose. *' Do you happen to remember Waller's 
clever answer when Charles II taxed him with 
making better verses about the Protector than 
upon his own * ^ Happy Return ' ' ? ' ' Poets, your 
Majesty, succeed better in fiction than in 
truth, '* was the witty reply. 

There are so many places we should like to 
see, — Chenies, where are the remarkable Rus- 
sell monuments; ^'the House of Russell robed 
in alabaster and painted," as Horace Walpole 
described the curious effect of the pink veining 
of the alabaster ; and Hampden, where there is 
a monument to John Hampden, who Macau- 
lay said, *Vould have been, had he lived, the 
Washington of England." Both of these towns 
are near, and also, and not less interesting, is 
the timbered farm-house in Chorley Wood, 
where William Penn was married to his Guli- 
elma, in 1672. We could spend a week delight- 
fully visiting these interesting places and driv- 
ing about this beautiful region, with its manj' 
parks, and as an additional attraction, to one 
member of the party at least, Mr. Croft assures 
us there is excellent fishing in the Chess. It 
was quite late when we reached Burnham 

122 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



Beeches and the falling twilight added to the 
weird effect of their great boles and strangely 
gnarled and twisted branches. 

Miss Cassandra suggested our stopping for 
tea at one of the many little cottage tea-gardens 
which are scattered through this woodland 
maze, remarking as she untied her bonnet- 
strings, that ^'emotions were wearing and 
sharpened the appetite/^ We did not realize 
how much ours had been sharpened by the long 
drive and constant sightseeing until some hot 
buttered toast and scones were set before us, 
with strawberry jam of a flavor only to be found 
in Great Britain. 

We again realized the wisdom of Miss Cas- 
sandra's suggestion when we reached Slough, 
as the London train was evidently waiting for 
us, — they always seem to be waiting over here, 
— and there was no time for tea or dinner or 
anything else before our rather late arrival 
in London. 

' We left Mr. Croft standing upon the plat- 
form, apparently quite bewildered by the fee 
that Walter had put in his hand, which, what- 
ever it may have been, was not, I am sure, out 
of proportion to the amount of pleasure that 
he had given us. He recovered himself suffi- 
ciently to wish us a pleasant journey and a 

123 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

speedy return to Slough, and I am quite sure 
that he meant it. 

Yf e have just parted with our delightful com- 
panions. They have gone to Surrey to visit 
friends and we leave for Bowness this after- 
noon. We hope to meet again at Oxford in 
August, as Walter has an engagement then 
with one of his favorite University Extension 
lecturers. 

I had an hour in which to write this letter, 
while Walter went to the Savoy to look up an 
American friend. We afterwards went to 
Brown Shipley's and at Trafalgar Square, 
while we stood looking at the great lions on 
the Nelson monument, we noticed the police 
clearing the street, and everyone being pushed 
on to the sidewalk, as if awaiting a procession. 
We stopped and gazed with the crowd, and soon 
a carriage came along with two gentlemen in- 
side, and no outriders. It was the King and 
the Prince of Wales on their way to the sta- 
tion, the former en route to Marienbad to meet 
Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria and to take 
the cure. The King looks well and happy and 
apparently much less in need of a cure than the 
Prince, who is so slight and delicate and grows 
more and more like his cousin, the Czar. 

As Walter had telegraphed from Oxford to 

124 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



liave our letters held at Brown Shipley's we 
found quite a budget, enough to occupy and 
entertain us upon our journey northward. 
Among other letters was one giving the date of 
the children's sailing, and your charming letter 
from Assisi. I cannot say that I envy you, you 
dearest Margaret, as you deserve all the good 
things that the gods bestow; and then I am 
quite too happy to envy any one; but I should 
love to see that dear little hill town again. I am 
rejoiced to hear you say that St. Francis and 
Santa Chiara are as real to you as upon your 
first visit, and that Allan has fallen under the 
spell of their enchantments. 

A letter from Angela was among the others. 
She is evidently bored by the monotony of the 
life at Carlsbad and says that she can well 
understand all about Madame de Stael and the 
Rue de Bac, for beautiful as Carlsbad is she 
finds it deadly dull and would prefer a third- 
class London hotel to the large and imposing 
one in which she is stopping, with a band play- 
ing at all hours of the day. *^The mountain 
walks at Carlsbad,'' she says, ''are romantic 
and lovely ; but they are filled with people walk- 
ing, and drinking at the various springs, and 
then walking again, and talking of their vari- 
ous maladies in between drinks, all of which 

125 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

is not especially exciting, not to be compared 
with the delightful roving life that you and 
Walter are leading. Could you, would you 
allow me to join you, if I promise to be very 
good and give you no trouble! I shall prob- 
ably be able to find company as far as London, 
in the next week or ten days, and from there 
I can reach you wherever you are. 

^' Mamma and papa and Mrs. Coxe are so 
interested in their several cures that they will 
not miss me. Every two or three days they 
tell me, with the most triumphant expression, 
how many pounds they have lost. They really 
should be shadows by this time, but they do 
not appear at all emaciated and are still what 
I should call decidedly plump. I am beginning 
to think that the scales are arranged to suit the 
desired fatness or leanness of the patient, 
although since coming here we have not met 
one single person who wished to be fat. I fancy 
that the thin people go to some other cure 
where they are warranted to put on flesh as 
cleverly as they are supposed to take it off here. 
Mrs. Coxe and the parents would send love and 
messages if they were not all engaged in their 
various anti-fat diversions. 

**Now, really, dearest Z., I should not dream 
of intruding upon your solitude a deux, if you 

126 



A QUAKER PILGRIMAGE 



had not written of travelling in trios, quar- 
tettes, and even quintettes, with persons of vari- 
ous ages and denominations. ' ' 

How Miss Cassandra would dislike being 
spoken of as a ^* denomination 'M 

We telegraphed at once to Angela to say how 
glad we should be to have her with us and the 
sooner the better. It will seem like old times, 
like Roman days and days in Venice and at the 
Villa d'Este, to have the child travel with us 
again. 



VI 

WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 



" Old England," 

BowNESS, July 26th. 

We came to this most lovely spot last night, 
dearest Margaret, and are revelling in the com- 
fort of a good inn as well as in the beauty of 
our surroundings. The house is built so near 
the water's edge that the drawing-room, in 
whose great bay window I am writing, seems 
to reach out into Lake Windermere. 

It is so pleasant to be settled down for a few 
days after knocking about, from pillar to post, 
that we are taking life very quietly and not 
making any excursions to-day, although several 
coaching parties started from here this 
morning. 

As we set out for a stroll around the little 
town of Bowness, the church, another St. Mar- 
tin's and quite ancient, dating back to 1485, 
drew us irresistibly, and we were rewarded 
for our *^ early piety," as Walter is pleased 
to call it, by finding some interesting old stained 

128 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

glass which has been carefully restored, some 
shockingly new frescoes, and a number of very 
quaint epitaphs. One of them, over the grave 
of a slave, Basselas Belfield, a native of 
Abyssinia, bears these grateful lines upon the 
tombs-tone : 

A Slave by birth I left my native Land, 
And found my Freedom on Britannia's Strand 
Blest Isle Thou Glory of the Wise and Free ! 
Thy Torch alone unbinds the chains of Slavery. 

This afternoon we made a tour of Lake Win- 
dermere, the winding lake, in and out among 
the lovely islands, near Belle Isle and on toward 
the north end of the lake where the mountains 
form a natural amphitheatre. Even if occa- 
sional showers forced us to take refuge in the 
cabin, the sun shone forth gaily between times, 
permitting us to have a glimpse of Mrs. Felicia 
Hemans's *^Dove Nest," which is perched upon 
the eastern slope of Windermere. Christopher 
North's Elleray is also on this lake, and here 
he was working on his ^^Isle of Palms'' when 
Shelley brought his child bride to Chestnut 
Hill, some miles beyond, near Keswick, where 
is still the *' lovely orchard garden," smaller 
and less charming than when Shelley and his 
wife and Eliza Westbrook enjoyed there some 
fleeting hours of happiness, before this apostle 

9 129 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

of atheism ^'descended upon Ireland with 
propagandist intent." 

It was at Briery, the home of Sir James 
Kay Shuttleworth, near Windermere, that Mrs. 
Gaskell first met Charlotte Bronte and found 
her the lovely person that she described her, 
with her sweet voice, expressive dark eyes, and 
gentle hesitating manner of speaking. What 
the rich and varied beauty of this region was 
to the little authoress, after the bleak outlook 
of her own moors, we gather from her letters, 
and we do not wonder that she longed to drop 
out of the Briery carriage and ** explore for 
herself these grand hills and sweet dales," of 
which she had *^only seen the similitude in 
dreams, waking or sleeping." 

At Fox How, which we saw yesterday on our 
way hither, Miss Bronte was invited to drink 
tea with the Arnolds, and described it as a 
^^nest half buried in flowers and creepers, the 
valley and hills around as beautiful as imagina- 
tion could dream." 

Walter says that I enjoy this visit of Char- 
lotte Bronte's to the Lakes as much as if I had 
been with her, and I really believe that I do. 
The thought of this brave little woman coming 
out of her lonely, desolate home, from which her 
two sisters had recently been taken, into all the 

130 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

brightness and beauty of Ambleside and Gras- 
mere, and into the genial companionship of 
Mrs. Gaskell and the Arnolds, is quite enough 
to make one happy. 

Ambleside, July 28th. 

Yesterday being a perfectly clear day with 
an air blowing like that of October at home, we 
made the excursion to Keswick, passing by Fox 
How and having a glimpse of Eydal Mount 
through the trees. As there are no relics of 
Wordsworth here, and as the place is not shown 
to visitors, none of the coaching party thought 
it worth while to descend from their perches 
to get a nearer view of the house ; and then we 
expect to walk over here some day and see all 
of these interesting places by ourselves and at 
our leisure — Nab Cottage, Elleray, and all 
the rest. Do you remember Christopher 
North *s ^ ^ Foresters ' ' ? It must have been writ- 
ten at Elleray, as the descriptions of the Lake 
country are so perfect. I wish I could find a 
copy of it, but, like many another good book, I 
fancy it is out of print. 

Not far from Eydal Mount is the picturesque 
miniature lake, Eydal Water, whose silver 
bosom reflects its tiny islets and emerald shores. 
The long reeds that grow far out in the water 
fringe the lake with their slender shafts and 

131 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

wave gayly in the breeze, a challenge to any 
Pan who may be haunting these woods and 
shores. Poets instead of river gods answered 
the lovely lake's challenge, and ^^ beauty born 
of murmuring sound'' entered into their souls, 
for from here and from Grasmere, where 
Coleridge and Southey often joined Words- 
worth in his walks, there issued some of the 
sweetest of our English lyrics. 

Overlooking Eydal Water and under the 
shade of a friendly tree is ^^Wordsworth's 
Seat," a huge boulder with hospitably shelving 
sides. Here we may fancy the poet sitting by 
the hour drawing inspiration from the beauty 
of the lake and the picturesque grandeur of 
Loughrigg rising above it. 

We passed by Grasmere 's fair lake and 
vale and on to Helm Crag, at whose top a stone 
wall defines the boundary between Westmore- 
land and Cumberland, and a heap of stones 
marks the grave of Dunmail, the last of the 
Kings of Cumbria. A little way beyond is 
Thirlmere with Helvellyn towering to a height 
of over three thousand feet, a vast altitude for 
England! Here we had a superb view of this 
great mountain's jagged peaks, and of the Red 
Cove Crag from which poor Charles Gough fell 
to his death while climbing these hills. 

132 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

When Sir Walter Scott came here, he was so 
deeply impressed by the story of the finding of 
70ung Gough's body, months afterwards, his 
faithful little terrier with her litter of young 
puppies beside her master, that he wrote a poem 
on the spot. It was said, by some of the dale 
folk, that the little watcher had ^^eat grass," 
but others thought that she had lived upon the 
carrion mutton that is always to be found 
among these fellside precipices and in the moun- 
tain ghylls. In any case, it was proved to 
everyone's satisfaction that she did not eat her 
dead master. Although we were greatly 
touched by this story of canine faithfulness, we 
were not moved to poetry like Walter Scott or 
Thomas Wilkinson. The latter 's description 
of the little dog's remarkable three months' 
vigil is simpler and better, to my thinking, than 
Sir Walter Scott's: 

"And when the rosy dawn 
On Swirrel's rocks and Striden's horrors shone, 
To her dead lord the faithful servant crept, 
Pull'd his damp robe, and wondered why he slept." 

We passed by the Castle Eock of St. John, 
the scene of Scott's Bridal of Triermain, and 
so on to Castle Eigg, from whose brow a noble 
panorama of the vale of Keswick is to be had, 
with Derwentwater and Brassenthwaite shining 

133 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

below, and Skiddaw and Blacatliara towering 
above them. 

It did not seem worth while to go out of our 
way to see ^'how the waters came down at 
Lodore/' because we were told that very little 
water was coming down at present. Instead, 
we went to Greta Hall, Southey's home for 
forty years, and then out to see the Druid 
Circle, or whatever it may be, with its thirty- 
eight stones, some of them quite high. From 
this eminence, and across Naddle Fell, is the 
little church of St. John in the Vale, said to be 
the highest site of any church in England. The 
churchyard is reverently and pathetically dedi- 
cated ^^To the glory of God and the last long 
sleep of the Dalesmen. '' 

Our day of coaching was altogether delight- 
ful, but we came back to the shores of Winder- 
mere as to a home, and feel that we can say 
of this vale, with the poet who wrote of it so 
tenderly : 

" Dear valley, having in thy face a smile, 
Though peaceful, full of gladness." 

We have moved over to Ambleside in order 
to be within walking distance of the Words- 
worth haunts, and as if to be quite in keeping 
with the associations of the place we are lodged 

134 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

in the cottage of a Mrs. Dove. The White Lion 
was *^full up/' but the landlady secured us 
rooms in her mother's house near by. We go 
over to the inn for our dinners, and take our 
luncheons and teas wherever we happen to be. 
I have been trying to get you a photograph of 
this tiny cottage, set about with nasturtiums, 
marigolds, and all sorts of old-fashioned flow- 
ers, but you know that I have never been much 
of a success as a photographer. 

July 29th. 
This afternoon we started a full hour before 
the coach, that was to pick us up on the road, 
and walked all around the little village of Am- 
bleside, by Harriet Martineau's cottage, the 
Knoll, which is covered over with vines and has 
a pretty garden beside it. Here it was that she 
entertained Charlotte Bronte upon her second 
visit to the lakes. The two literary ladies seem 
to have spent a week or more together in great 
peace and happiness, writing in their separate 
rooms during the morning and meeting in the 
afternoons and evenings for walks and talks. 
A perfectly ideal way of making a visit, is it 
not ! These English people, probably from long 
practice, have elevated the giving and receiving 
of visits to a fine art ; we might learn much from 

135 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

them ! In a letter written from the Knoll, Miss 
Bronte says that ^'although Miss Martineau 
was not without her peculiarities, her good and 
noble qualities far outweighed her defects/' 
They were at one in their enthusiastic admira- 
tion for the Duke of Wellington and upon many 
other subjects; but the hostess with all her *' ab- 
solutism'' failed to convert the resolute little 
Yorkshire lady to her own ardent faith in mes- 
merism. A little further along the stage road, 
at the foot of Nab Scar, is Nab Cottage, a long, 
low vine-covered building with a porch in front. 
Here De Quincey lived for some years, and 
here Hartley Coleridge, the '^Li'le Hartley" 
beloved of the lake folk, lived and died. 

The feeling about Hartley Coleridge is curi- 
ously strong among the simple country people. 
When Dean Eawnsley asked whether Mr. 
Wordsworth and Hartley were not great 
friends, the answer was very much in the lat- 
ter 's favor. *^He [Mr. Wordsworth] was a 
cleverish man, but he wasn't set much count of 
by noan of us. He lent Hartley a deal of his 
books, it 's certain, but Hartley helped him a 
great deal, I understand, did best part of his 
poems for him, so the sayin' is. Na na, I doan't 
think Li'le Hartley ever set much by him, never 
was friendly, I doubt. Ye see, he [Mr. Words- 

136 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

worth] was so hard upon him, so very hard 
upon him, giv' him so much hard preaachin' 
about his waays. * ' Wordsworth and his poetry 
were doubtless both quite beyond the under- 
standing of the dalesmen, not for * ' sich as us, ' ' 
as they expressed it, **noan o' us very fond on 
'im; eh, dear! quite a different man from Li'le 
Hartley. He wasn't a man as was very com- 
panionable, ye kna/' 

One practical mark the poet has left upon 
the vale, which the country folk seem to ap- 
preciate. He had his own fancy about chim- 
neys. As one of the cottagers said, *^Wuds- 
worth liked a bit of colour in them. I 'member 
he and the Doctor [Arnold] had great argu- 
ments about the chimleys time we was building 
Fox How, and Wudsworth sed he liked a bit 
o' colour in 'em. And that the chimley coigns 
sud be natural headed and natural bedded, a 
little red and a little yaller. For there is a bit 
of colour in the quarry stone up Easedale 
way." And so many of the chimney stacks up 
Eydal way are built according to the poet's 
fancy, and a charming fancy it was! I have 
never realized how much beauty there can be 
in chimney stacks until this summer when I 
have seen so much of rural England. 

The chimneys are picturesque as well as 

137 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

everything else about Dove Cottage, but how 
tiny it is ! The master must have had to bend 
his tall head to enter his own doorway. 

In 1807 De Quincey visited the cottage, which 
was originally an inn with the sign of ''The 
Dove and Olive Bough.'' His description of 
''the little white cottage gleaming among trees'' 
is not untrue to its appearance to-day. Here 
is the same diamond-paned window looking out 
on the road and all embowered with roses and 
jasmine. This window belonged to Dorothy's 
ground-floor chamber, where are still the ar- 
ticles of furniture used by her and brought from 
Rydal Mount after Mrs. Wordsworth's death. 
On the floor above is the bedroom of the master 
and mistress, the little parlor consecrated as 
the poet's study by its three hundred volumes, 
and beyond it the tiny guest-chamber, added 
just before Sir Walter and Lady Scott visited 
the Wordsworths in 1805. 

"I was," wrote De Quincey after his first 
visit to Dove Cottage, which was destined to be 
his own home for many years, *' ushered up a 
little flight of stairs, fourteen in all, to a little 
drawing room, or whatever the reader chooses 
to call it. It was not fully seven feet six inches 
high, and in other respects pretty nearly of 
the same dimensions as the hall below." 

138 



I 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

Standing in that little parlor we thought of 
all the goodly company that had been gathered 
there, for although Carlyle found Words- 
worth's talk thin and prolix and decidedly not 
to his taste, the master of Dove Cottage drew 
to his humble home many of the great folk of 
his time. Here came Christopher North, whose 
eye, Miss Martineau said, could *^ almost see 
through a stone wall,'' and so beheld beauty in 
everything, and Sir Walter; and Eobert 
Southey across the hills from Greta Hall, Kes- 
wick, and Samuel Rogers, Humphry Dav}^, 
Thomas Clarkson, the friend of the African 
slave, and Charles Lamb. The latter was be- 
guiled in 1802 from the courts and nooks of 
Thames Street, the never-failing delights of 
Fleet Street, the old book-stalls, familiar street 
cries at noon and at midnight, dear to his 
cockney heart, to behold for once and to be 
stirred to the depths of his soul by the glories of 
Helvellyn and Skiddaw. If the walls of that 
room could speak what eloquence and genial 
converse, subtle humor and flashing wit they 
would relate! Coleridge, who, as Lamb said, 
talked like an angel, was a daily visitor at the 
cottage and quite ready to prolong his angelic 
converse until three o'clock in the morning if 
Dorothy and William would but listen. 

139 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Only second in interest to the parlor 
is Dorothy's Bower, the little terraced gar- 
den, which lies so much higher than the 
house that the second-story rooms open into it. 
The vines that grow so luxuriantly to-day were 
planted by the poet's own hands, as were the 
apple-trees upon the crest of the hill that still 
shade Wordsworth's out-of-door study. Upon 
the rustic bench under the trees he often sat 
absorbed in thought, with the lovely panorama 
of rugged hills and smiling valleys spread be- 
fore him, and here he entertained his brother 
poets who made his home their rallying-place. 
Beneath the little bower is the well where the 
brother and sister planted the large-leaved 
primroses and here the hidden rill still sings, 
as of yore, — 

" If you listen, all is still, 
Save a little neighboring rill, 
Tliat from out the rocky ground 
Strikes a solitary sound." 

In this happy garden, 

" whose seclusion deep 
Hath been friendly to industrious hours," 

and while taking long walks around Grasmere 
Lake and Eydal Water, or while seated upon 
the great roadside boulder that bears his name, 

140 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

there came to the poet his highest inspirations, — 
winged fancies and thoughts sublime flashed 

" upon that inner eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude." 

Indeed, Wordsworth has told us himself that 
nine- tenths of his verses ^^were murmured out 
in the open air/' 

To this little, low cottage, built upon a hill 
side, Wordsworth brought home his fair bride, 
Mary Hutchinson, who had been his school mate 
at Penrith, and here the young wife and dearly 
loved sister lived together in harmony and 
happiness almost paradisiacal. 

The caretaker assured us that the small dark 
kitchen shadowed by the terrace is much as it 
was when these two well-born and highly-cul- 
tivated women performed all the work of the 
household with their own hands. She remem- 
bers well seeing them about their daily tasks, 
when she came to the house as a child. Of the 
tall old gentleman in his long blue cloak, who 
walked about the hills and vales muttering to 
himself she and her young companions were 
half afraid. An old woman now, she was a girl 
when the Wordsworths lived at Dove Cottage, 
and as she showed us the grates and fireplaces 
she told us that they are just as the family had 

141 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

left them, and that the poet used to toast his 
bread before the 

" Half kitchen and half parlour fire." 

It is impossible to read a page of Dorothy 
Wordsworth's Grasmere journal without being 
impressed by the pastoral simplicity of life and 
the **high thinking'' that reigned in Dove Cot- 
tage in those days: 

^' Monday. — Sauntered a good deal in the garden, bound 
carpets, mended old clothes, read ^ Timon of Athens,^ dried 
linen. ... In the morning William cut down the whi- 
ter cherry-tree. I sowed French beans and weeded. . . . 
Coleridge read ^ Christabel ' a second time ; we had increas- 
ing pleasure. William and I were employed all the morn- 
ing in writing an addition to the Preface. ... A sweet 
evening, as it has been a sweet day, and I walked along the 
side of Rydal Lake with quiet thoughts. The hUls and lake 
were still. The owls had not begun to hoot, and the little 
birds had given over singing. I looked before me and saw 
a red light upon Silver How, as if coming out of the vale 
below, — 

" * There was a light of most strange birth, 
A light that came out of the earth, 
And spread along the dark hill-side.' " 

If William chopped wood for the kitchen fire 
and Dorothy mended old clothes and sowed 
French beans, they truly ^^ walked among the 
stars" when they had finished their homely 
tasks or while engaged upon them. That the 
Wordsworths were able to sustain thinking of 

142 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

any kind, high or low, on the combined sum of 
the incomes of the three inmates of Dove Cot- 
tage was largely due to the exertions of the 
two capable women who baked, brewed, washed, 
and stitched in the little kitchen under the hill. 
Nor was this all. V^hen the daily tasks were 
done the wife and sister still had mind and 
spirit to enjoy the last poem or essay from the 
pens of Coleridge, Southey, Sir Walter, or De 
Quincey, or to listen, with keen appreciation, to 
the latest composition of the master of the 
household, who depended upon his womenfolk 
for literary companionship as well as for the 
material comforts of life. In fine weather there 
were congenial spirits to drop in and discuss 
poetry and prose with the young writer; but in 
the long seasons of rainy weather that come 
often to this Lake Country, and in the short 
days of winter, when the evenings are long, 
it was to Dorothy and Mary that Wordsworth 
turned for the sympathy and encouragement 
that every poet's soul craves. 

Both Coleridge and De Quincey have left 
pleasant descriptions of Wordsworth's *' ex- 
quisite sister." To the sensitive and im- 
pressionable Coleridge, Dorothy Wordsworth 
evidently stood first among womankind, and 
she seems to have given him a place in her 

143 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

heart close to that held by William. ^^Her man- 
ners are simple, ardent, impressive,'' wrote 
Coleridge ; * * her eye watchful in minutest obser- 
vations of Nature; and her taste a perfect 
electrometer. ' ' 

De Quincey speaks of Miss Wordsworth as 
*^ shorter and slighter than her sister-in-law, 
her face of an Egyptian brown rarely met with 
in women of English birth.'' Although admir- 
ing greatly the remarkable endowments of the 
poet's sister and her exquisite sympathy with 
nature, he discovered in Mrs. Wordsworth a 
greater refinement of manner, an ease and re- 
pose, that would have caused her to be pro- 
nounced ^ * very much the more ladylike person. " 
Very quiet was Mrs. Wordsworth despite her 
** radiant graciousness," entering so little into 
the general conversation around her, that Mr. 
Slave-Trade Clarkson used to allege against 
her that she could only say **God bless you!" 

Despite the sweetness and sunny benignity 
that De Quincey found in Mrs. Wordsworth's 
countenance, the country people, some of whom 
still remember her, speak of her face as ** nob- 
but a plaainish an." When interrogated as to 
Wordsworth's appearance, an old retainer re- 
plied, ' * He was an ugly-f aaced man and a mean 
liver"! Of the poet, another old lake country- 

144 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

man said, * ^ Mr. Wordsworth went bnnning and 
booming about and she [Dorothy] kept close 
behint him, and she picked up the bits as he 
let 'em fall and tak' 'em down and put 'em on 
paper for him. And you med' be very well 
sure as how she didn't understand nor make 
sense out of 'em, and I doubt that he [Words- 
worth] didn't knaw much aboot them either 
himself, but howiver there 's a gay lock o' 
fowk as wad I dar' say." 

It was while living at Dove Cottage in the 
early years, when ^* every common sight" wore 
^^the glory and the freshness of a dream," that 
Wordsworth wrote ''The Ode," ''The White 
Doe of Rylstone," "The Excursion," and "The 
Daffodils." 

The coach overtook us at Dove Cottage, 
where we had tarried long, and while the other 
members of the party filled, quite filled, the 
tiny abode with themselves and their raptures, 
we started over to the Church of St. Oswald, 
which is so near the cottage that its sad associ- 
ations with recent sorrows drove Mr. and Mrs. 
Wordsworth from their Grasmere home, in 
1813, to Rydal Mount. 

In a shaded corner of the old churchyard, by 
Eotha's wave, are the graves of Wordsworth 
and his Mary. By the side of their tombstone, 

10 145 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

which bears the simplest possible inscription, is 
that of the poet's favorite child, Dora, Mrs. 
Quillinan, and of her husband, Edward Quil- 
linan. Not far from the grave of William 
Wordsworth is that of Hartley Coleridge. The 
last resting-place of this brilliant but unequally 
developed genius is marked by a Celtic cross, 
and a little farther to the right in this Poet's 
Corner of the Lake District is a tablet to the 
memory of Arthur Hugh Clough and to his 
sister, Anne Clough, sometime Principal of 
Newnham College, Cambridge. Although 
Clough died at Florence and is buried in the 
Swiss cemetery there, as you know, this tablet 
to his memory is placed over the grave of his 
mother, who died at Eller How, Ambleside. 

As we turned away from the little church- 
yard so filled with tender memories, Walter 
reminded me of Miss Cassandra's wise saw 
about emotions being exhausting and requiring 
material support, and directed by an old dales- 
man we made our way to an inn near by, where 
upon a lawn of green velvet a dainty tea was 
being served to some of our party. 

*^We shall never have another such after- 
noon!" I exclaimed. 

**No, not until we visit the shrine of some 
other poet ; and now, Zelphine, if you will come 

146 



WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED 

back to the things of this lower world, this tea 
and these scones are fit for gods and men.'' 

*'And better still for all tired travellers," 
said one of our party, an English lady who was 
sitting at a small table near ns, adding that she 
was ^ Agoing quite seedy" but tea and cake had 
picked her up famously. 

July 31st. 

We left our own especial Dove Cottage this 
morning, at quite an early hour, and climbed 
the steep mountain road to the top of the Kirk- 
stone Pass. I say climbed with some emphasis, 
as we were politely requested to get down from 
the coach and walk up the long hill to a little 
house called the Travellers' Eest, an inn where 
untempting refreshments are sold, and some 
highly-colored post-cards which give but a poor 
idea of the rugged beauty of the pass, especially 
as we saw the hills and the Kirkstone, which 
gives the place its name, with the morning mist 
curling from off their sides just as Wordsworth 
wrote of them. Hundreds of sheep were grazing 
on the short grass of the hill sides where rude 
stone fences define neighborhood landmarks. 

The Travellers' Eest, situated at a height of 
about 1500 feet, is said to be the highest inhab- 
ited house in England, but a statistical English- 
man upon the coach informed us that this was 

147 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

not so, as the Cat and Fiddle Inn not far from 
Buxton, which stands at an altitude of 1700 
feet, is entitled to this distinction. 

Ullswater is as beautiful as Windermere and 
more ruggedly picturesque than Grasmere ; but 
it lacks their compelling charm, to our thinking, 
being less thickly set about with associations 
of the poets that we love. And yet we do not 
forget that it was here, at Gowbarrow Park on 
Ullswater 's shore, that Wordsworth's daffodils 
danced in the spring sunshine. If we were in 
daffodil season, I am quite sure that we should 
have seen the gay blossoms ^^ dancing in the 
breeze," as we strolled through the Park this 
afternoon, just as they appeared to Dorothy 
Wordsworth's sympathetic eye when she beheld 
them, on a spring morning, tossing and reeling 
and dancing, seeming ^ ^ as if they verily laughed 
with the wind that blew over the lake, they 
looked so gay, ever glancing, ever changing." 

We shall quit these lovely valleys with regret, 
to journey into the busy world again, feeling 
that we are leaving behind us a sacred spot, a 
shrine shut in by rugged hills, mirrored in clear 
lakes, consecrated by the lives and sacrifices, 
the high thoughts and aspirations, and the noble 
and gracious fulfilments of some of the wisest 
and best of the children of men. 

148 



VII 

ROMAN ENGLAND 



Chester, August 1st. 

When we reached Liverpool this morning we 
found the whole city en fete, with flags flying 
from all the buildings. As the papers had an- 
nounced, the King and Queen are here to lay 
the cornerstone of the new cathedral, which is 
to be the largest in all England. It is to cover 
an area of ninety thousand square feet. Is it 
not difficult to stretch one's mind to take in the 
dimensions of a building so vast in length and 
breadth, with a nave one hundred and sixteen 
feet high? 

The streets were gay with decorations of all 
kinds, — long festoons of pink, white, and red 
roses, the arms and crown on red plush in gold 
embroidery, and more flags, streamers, and 
bunting than are to be seen even at our own 
celebrations. We were pleased to see some 
Stars and Stripes flying among the English flags. 
There were a number of elaborate designs, 
wreaths, and transparencies bearing words of 

149 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

welcome to the King and Queen, most frequent 
among them being such inscriptions as: ^'God 
Bless our King and Queen,'' ^^God Bless King 
Edward, the Peacemaker. ' ' 

The English people whom we meet say that 
King Edward's reputation as a peacemaker is 
well deserved. It is interesting and significant 
that the rulers of the two great English-speak- 
ing nations, our President and England's King, 
should stand forth so prominently as aiders and 
abettors of the world's peace. 

Unlike Mr. Ho wells, royalty seems ''to come 
our way." We saw the King in London and 
here he is again, his face meeting us like that 
of an old friend, and a very pleasant, genial 
face it is ! He could not have been on his way 
to Germany, as we were told. 

"With no idea of being able to see anything 
of the ceremonies at the cathedral grounds, we 
secured a carriage simply for the pleasure of 
driving through the gayly-decorated city and 
viewing the immense concourse of people. As 
we were stopping in one of the smaller streets, 
waiting for the crowd to disperse, we heard 
sounds of cheering, then came the outriders, 
and then the King and Queen. As they were 
in a high-seated open carriage, we had a good 
view of them, looking for all the world as I 

150 



ROlNiAN ENGLAND 



have always thought of Kings and Queens in 
my childhood, driving in a grand coach amid 
gala scenes, all as it should have been except 
for the crowns. We wished so much for Chris- 
tine and Lisa, but then they would have been 
sadly disappointed about the crowns. The 
King was in his red British uniform with a 
long white feather in his military cap, and 
saluted the enthusiastic populace in soldier 
fashion as he passed. The Queen is just like 
her pictures, quite lovely and astonishingly 
young looking, as we saw her from our coign 
of vantage. They tell us that her complexion 
owes much to art, but no art that has yet been 
discovered could give her her handsome eyes, 
which constitute her greatest and most lasting 
beauty. But, after all, it is not the Queen's 
beauty as much as a certain indescribable com- 
bination of dignity and graciousness that makes 
her so attractive. Walter lost his heart to her 
at once, as all the men do, I fancy, she is so 
exquisitely and charmingly feminine. It some- 
times seems as if this quality were becoming 
more rare as the world moves on; and laugh 
at us, as men have done for centuries, because 
of certain distinctly feminine attributes, they 
like us all the better for them, even enjoying, 
in a way, our fondness for pretty nothings, 

isi 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

chiffons, and the like. The Queen is purely, 
feminine in her love for chiffons, but she never 
leads or follows in any extreme of fashion, 
especially in hats. Instead of the immense, ex- 
aggerated structures they are beginning to 
Tv^ear over here, she had on a quite simple little 
toque of a delicate mauve, the same shade as 
her gown, all in exquisite taste. 

Some English ladies whom we met in the 
drawing-room at Blossom's this evening were 
talking of the King and Queen as they love 
to do, with a pleasant underlying sense of 
ownership. 

In speaking of the Queen's beauty and youth- 
ful appearance, despite the sorrows and trials 
of her life, of which latter they made no secret, 
they said that although lovely she was not a 
particularly clever woman and rather lacking 
in a sense of humor, while King Edward is 
immensely clever and keenly alive to the humor- 
ous side of life. The Princess Charles of Den- 
mark is clever, they agreed, like her father, 
who is devoted to her as he is fond of clever 
people, but, they added, shaking their wise 
heads, ''the Queen is a good woman and has 
the heart of the whole English people." 

"We appreciated our privileges in being ad- 
mitted to these confidences; and hearing the 

152 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



dicta of the good dames given forth thus ex 
cathedra, as one may express it, we felt that 
valuable side lights had been thrown upon the 
private life of the royal family of England. 
Even if I had known better I should not have 
thought of differing from these worthy ladies, 
who were as firmly established in their opin- 
ions about their own royalties as in their loyal 
devotion to the ritual and observances of the 
Church of England. 

^^It must require generations of life under a 
monarchy to bring about such a condition of 
mind," exclaimed Walter, after the ladies had 
withdrawn. ^^Witli the very strictest ideals of 
life and duty, these typical British matrons ad- 
mit to themselves, in a sub rosa fashion, that 
the King has failings which would be serious 
defects in another person and yet, with all his 
faults, they love him still because he is the 
King. This English point of view would be 
quite impossible to the average American. If 
our President, any of our presidents, should 
fail to do the square thing by his wife, wouldn't 
we execrate himf But this feeling of the sacred- 
ness of majesty, having survived the reigns 
of Charles II and George IV, may prevail for 
another hundred years or so." From all of 
which you will perceive that Walter has not 

153 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

become an anglomaniac. I must confess that 
I watched him with some uneasiness during 
the conversation with the dowagers, fearing 
that his uncompromising Americanism, which 
amounts to a religion, might lead him to **bear 
testimony" in a manner that would have sur- 
prised his listeners. 

You must know that the King and Queen hav- 
ing left Liverpool this afternoon, and there 
being no possibility of the Haverford getting 
in for another twenty- four hours, we have come 
to dear old Chester for the night. Before we 
left Liverpool we had a couple of hours in the 
Walker Gallery, where we had the pleasure of 
seeing Dante's Dream in color — and in what 
richness of color ! I felt very much as you and 
I did when we first entered the Salle Carre at 
the Louvre, before the new chronological ar- 
rangement prevailed, when so many friends of 
long standing appeared to us for the first time 
in color, almost in the flesh as it seemed to us, — 
the laughing Le Bruns, the wonderful Eaphaels, 
Da Vincis, and all the rest. In the Walker 
Gallery, besides the pre-Eaphaelites are some 
Italian, Flemish, and German paintings, a fine 
collection, that like many other things in Liver- 
pool is overlooked because this city is a landing 
place and most people after a long voyage are 

154 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



tired of inactivity and wish to spread their 
wings and fly away somewhere, anywhere. 
There really is a great deal to see in Liverpool 
and "Walter found the city docks, which with 
those of Birkenhead extend for six or seven 
miles along the Mersey, well worth more than 
the hour which he had to give them. The city 
itself is of a prevailing grayness of hue, and 
with all the immense amount of shipping that 
is done here, in no place that we have seen in 
England, is the poverty so evident. The white, 
pinched faces of the children and the hopeless 
faces of the old people quite haunt us. Here is 
the poverty of Italy, without its sunshine, its 
flowers, and its picturesqueness. I found Wal- 
ter dispensing pennies and sixpences among 
the children so liberally that we should have 
been followed by a mob had it not been for the 
superior attractions of royalty. 

We enjoyed a walk on the old walls of Ches- 
ter in the long twilight this evening, and what 
wonderful walls they are, surrounding the city 
in a circuit of nearly two miles! Even if not 
actually old Eoman walls, they follow the orig- 
inal lines and beneath them were fought battles, 
early and late, from the seventh century down 
to the time of the Civil War. Walter was de- 
lighted to find some Eoman antiquities in the 

155 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Water Tower. You remember it, I am sure. 
It is the picturesque ivy-grown tower, with a 
statue of Queen Anne at the head of the steps 
which lead into the garden. Walter 's interest in 
Roman antiquities is unflagging and adds so 
much zest to our trip. We have come across an 
English magazine here at Blossom's which 
gives us an interesting account of some recent 
excavations. The arch^ologists enjoyed ^'a 
feast of fat things" at Silchester, where they 
not only found beautiful mosaic floors and other 
interesting remains but a complete apparatus 
for heating a house by means of hot-air pipes, a 
luxury by no means usual in the England of 
to-day. We must go to Silchester sometime; 
indeed, we are already planning another so- 
journ in Great Britain, this one to include Ire- 
land and Scotland and to be devoted exclusively 
to antiquities. You and Allan will surely join 
this archaeological expedition, and how we shall 
all enjoy it ! Is there any limit to the interest- 
ing things to be done under this shining sun ? — 
or, rather, under this pouring English rain, 
which finally drove us in from the walls to the 
informing conversation of the dowagers. Wal- 
ter has never had just such a trip as this. In 
his hurried visits to England he has been with 
men who had no taste for the things he has 

156 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



cared for, and when he was here with Christine 
she was only interested in the large cities and 
in the shops. I do hope that the children may 
share their father's tastes. I am so anxious to 
see the darlings, and so glad that their gov- 
erness goes to Ireland to visit relatives, so that 
we may have them quite to ourselves. 

We had a good view of the outside of the 
Cathedral from the city walls this evening. I 
have always admired its great flying buttresses 
and Tudor porch. Its curiously mixed archi- 
tecture does not seem incongruous, and although 
Chester Cathedral may not be compared with 
the great cathedrals that we have seen, it has its 
own charm, especially as one sees it from the 
wall, its picturesque graveyard all overgrown 
with trees and shrubbery. We are planning to 
have an hour for the interior to-morrow, as 
there is an interesting old Norman doorway, 
and a fragment of the Norman church restored 
as a baptistery, that we want to see, and some 
beautiful carvings on the stalls and a famous 
wall-pulpit that I remember well. Above all, 
we must see the two flags that figured at Bun- 
ker Hill; they were not taken from us like the 
cannon. Miss Cassandra should be here to see 
them. I wonder where she and Lydia are, and 
whether we shall meet them later on in Oxford. 

157 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

I have written Angela telling her of our plans. 
She will probably join ns in York. 

St. Maey's, Bootham, York, August i2nd. 
We came directly from Liverpool to York, 
a run of only a few hours. Our plan was to 
stop over at Manchester for half a day, as 
Walter wished to have a look at that great 
manufacturing centre, and I have always 
wanted to see the Maddox Brown frescoes in 
the Town Hall, but the children were tired and 
looked as if they needed the high bracing air 
which we find here. They are a bit pale, espe- 
cially Christine, and although they have a good 
nursery governess and have not lacked care 
they have a rather pathetic look, something 
quite indescribable. You will be laughing at 
me when I say that they have a motherless 
look, both dressed alike, in orphan-asylum 
fashion, which is something I cannot abide. 
They adore their father and must have missed 
him sadly. Lisa is a round chubby thing and 
although ten years old has been so much petted 
that she still has some charming baby ways. 
Christine is two years older, graver and more 
reserved, but very sweet and so pretty with 
her gray eyes and waving brown hair. They 
are both rather shy with me and painfully 

158 




Doorway of Tudor Manor House, York 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



polite. Lisa will, I am sure, soon adopt me; 
Christine will not yield so quickly, but her 
father assures me that when won her friend- 
ship will be worth having. And is not this a 
pleasant way to make the acquaintance of my 
new Kinder? 

We are comfortably situated in a pleasant 
house kept by two English ladies quite near 
the Bootham Bar. Monk Bar has higher 
towers and Micklegate is more perfect archi- 
tecturally, but old Bootham always delights us 
with its Norman arch and ancient portcullis — 
but alas ! like so many interesting buildings, it 
is disfigured with unsightly advertisements. 
Americans are not the only people to offend 
in this respect, but I regret to say that some 
of the wares advertised are of American 
manufacture. 

You may remember that there is a fine view of 
York Minster from the walls near Bootham 
Bar, and nearly opposite is the beautiful old 
Tudor Manor House, that you and I thought 
one of the most charming buildings in this city 
of York which so abounds in treasures of archi- 
tecture. The Manor House is now used as an 
institution for the blind. We went through 
it this afternoon and bought some of the ar- 
ticles made by the inmates, and Walter is now 

159 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

congratulating himself upon having secured a 
clothes-brush which he reluctantly admits is 
of a quality and excellence beyond anything 
the United States can produce. They do make 
some things better over here, and yet when we 
went to the chemist's to get a tonic for Chris- 
tine, the array of home products that the sales- 
man set before us was really amusing; malted 
milk, liquid peptonoids, acid phosphates, etc., 
etc., until we were ready to lift up our hands 
and cry *^ Enough!" When we asked whether 
they did not make any of these preparations 
in England, the man said, quite frankly, that 
they put them up so well in the States that it 
was not worth while. It really seems that the 
boasted strength of Great Britain is somewhat 
dependent upon the resources of our Greater 
Britain on the other side of the water. Does 
that have a * ^ spread eagle ' ' sound to you, Mar- 
garet, who are living among associations that 
so far antedate America, Columbus, and even 
Julius Caesar? If it does, blame it upon Wal- 
ter's inveterate Americanism; and then, even 
here, we are by no means living entirely in the 
present. So much of the ancient York has been 
excavated within a few years, that we are re- 
minded of Eoman England at every turn. 
We are not planning to take the Kinder upon 

160 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



any extended tours of sightseeing, which would 
be wearisomeness to both flesh and spirit, but 
after walking around the walls this morning 
and viewing the Minster from without, we 
brought them around by the beautiful west front 
and entered the nave by the south door. Chris- 
tine was awed into silence by the vastness and 
lofty upreach of the glorious interior, and held 
fast to her father's hand, while Lisa wanted to 
know all about it. You see how different they 
are, but no intelligent child can fail to carry 
away some lasting impression of the indescrib- 
able combination of strength and grace that 
make this Lady of the North one of the glories 
of England. York was my second cathedral, 
Durham was the first, and with all my admira- 
tion for that vast pile of dark stone, which 
seems a part of the rocky bank of the Wear on 
which it stands, York Minster has always been 
the Cathedral of my dreams. To see it again 
and with Walter is an unspeakable joy. Few 
visitors were in the Cathedral this morning 
and we enjoyed undisturbed the vast nave with 
its clustered pillars, upon which the light 
streamed, red, gold, and pale green through the 
many windows of old glass. You remember 
the organ screen, with its representations of 
the English Kings from William I to Henry 

11 161 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

yi, and above them the dear little angels play- 
ing upon musical instruments. This screen 
delighted the children even more than the 
*^Five Sisters'' in the north transept, which is 
one of the most beautiful windows, with its 
^Ye lancet lights and delicate tracery in soft 
greens and browns. The Jesse window in the 
clere-story in the north aisle is rich and lovely, 
with the stem of Jesse winding like a vine 
through the more formal design, and the whole 
representing the genealogy of our Lord. The 
verger told us that the east window is the sec- 
ond largest in the world and was saved, almost 
miraculously, when the Cathedral was set fire 
to in 1829. No one but a fanatic, or a mad man, 
could have been guilty of such an act of van- 
dalism and such the incendiary, Jonathan Mar- 
tin, proved to be at his trial, as he confessed 
quite ingenuously: *^I wur vexed at hearing 
them sing, the organ made such a buzzing 
noise, I thought thou shalt buzz no more — I '11 
have thee down to-night after service. ' ' Which 
he did forthwith, setting fire to the choir and 
destroying the beautiful screen, roof, and 
stalls, of which all of those now standing are 
reproductions. 

We stopped to look at some of the old tat- 
tered flags and pennons, borne in many battles 

162 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



from the days when York and Lancaster strove 
for England ^s crown until the war in South 
Africa, which seems so near. There is some- 
thing infinitely pathetic about the hanging of 
these old battle-flags in the cathedrals, and 
something of the dramatic that seems to belong 
to the French more than to the English. I like 
it, much as I abhor war, because it elevates the 
only thing that excuses war, patriotism, to 
its rightful place in the temple of religion. The 
triumphs of peace are celebrated, too, in stone 
and marble, here as in many another cathedral. 

The Lady chapel with its noble monument to 
Archbishop Sharpe and the beautiful eight- 
sided Chapter house which is, I believe, the 
handsomest in England, we hope to see many 
times, as we are near enough to the Minster to 
stop in as we go to and fro. 

Some associations with Haworth, we came 
upon quite unexpectedly. When there we had 
seen the school where many Yorkshire chorist- 
ers are trained. It appears that when the 
last great musical festival was held at York, in 
1835, a grand occasion, the Princess Victoria 
and her mother, the Duchess of Kent, being 
present, the Yorkshire choristers were placed 
behind those from London. This did not at all 
suit the ideas of the Yorkshire leader, Mr. Tom 

163 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Parker of Haworth, and on the first day, after 
the London chorus had displayed its powers, 
Mr. Parker turned to his comrades, and said: 
^^Nah, lads, let 's oppen wer shooldersT' The 
Yorkshire chorus burst forth and created such 
an impression that they were afterwards put 
in front. **That 's nowt to what we can do," 
said Parker to the astonished Londoners. 

August 3rd. 

Although York is a large city and a great 
thoroughfare between the north and south, 
boasting a railroad station which its citizens 
rank almost next in importance to the Minster, 
it is still strangely dominated by the past, and 
the impression that York makes upon the trav- 
eller to-day is that of an ancient fortress. 

Whether fortified by the Romans, or by the 
Britons themselves, it was always against the 
encroachments of the Northmen, Picts, Scots, 
and Danes that this city upon the Ouse was to 
be defended. With its own strong walls, 
Hadrian's great wall, and as an additional 
protection a second wall and a long line of 
forts, it seemed that the Roman in York might 
take his ease and follow the instincts of his 
beauty-loving nature, which he did in making 
of this military centre an ** Altera Roma," as 

164 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



lie sometimes called it. Only bits of tlie fine 
old buildings, here and there, are still to be 
seen, carved capitals, fragments of decoration; 
and in the garden of the Philosophical Society, 
by the shining river upon which the swans float 
majestically, there is a many-angled tower 
which formed a corner of the old Eoman wall. 
Beautiful buildings were erected here and 
luxuries, known only to the life of the south, 
were brought to uncivilized Britain. At Aid- 
borough, fifteen miles or so from York, the 
Komans dotted the plains with their villas. A 
young Scotchman, Dr. Mclvor, who sits near 
us at table, tells us that the museum of Eoman 
antiquities at Aldborough is well worth a visit. 
Walter suggests a motor trip there and we are 
looking forward to it with great pleasure. 
This was the Isurium of the Eomans, as you 
two Italy lovers may be glad to know. 

I have never before entered into the heart 
of this Eoman England, probably because the 
intimate personal side of the Eoman occupa- 
tion has never been dwelt upon in our histories. 
As Mr. Norway says in his interesting book 
upon Yorkshire, which we have been reading, 
*^To many of us in these days the Eoman oc- 
cupation of these islands is a sort of fairy tale, 
the story of some temporary raid, some huge 

165 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

adventurous army which came and went, leav- 
ing about as much memory of its presence as 
the shadow of a summer cloud upon the earth. 
It is strange that we English, of all people, 
should think lightly of an occupation which 
was so like our own great task in India. . . . 
Do we ever think that this strange Roman 
occupation of our land lasted longer than 
our own stay in India has been as yet? 
The sixth Roman legion, that one which, with 
a regimental pride worthy of our sympathy, 
wrote itself on every one of its inscriptions 
'Leg. vi. Victrix,' was in garrison at York for 
full three hundred years. Think of it ; as long 
a period as from the days of Queen Elizabeth 
unto our own!" And do you realize, Mar- 
garet, that the Romans were in Britain as long, 
or longer, than the Briton has been in Amer- 
ica? I had not, nor did I remember that the 
Emperor Septimius Severus had died and been 
buried here, or that Constantine the Great was 
proclaimed Emperor in York. Walter declares 
that these facts make him feel at home in York, 
as Severus and Constantine are so intimately 
associated with his school days and are so 
much better company than our uncivilized 
British ancestors. And yet, after hearing 
about the recent pageant at Bury St. Edmunds 

166 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



from some people in the house, we feel that we 
have been brought into closer relations with 
the ancient Britons, especially with Queen 
Boadicea. This royal and heroic lady, they 
describe as large and blonde, a superb-looking 
creature, a very queen of tragedy. Of the 
pageant as a whole our informants did not give 
us a very clear idea, for after all a spectacular 
performance is something to be seen rather 
than to be described. 

If we had not been so much occupied in get- 
ting our trousseaux and being married, we 
might have seen one of the pageants at Eom- 
sey or at Bury St. Edmunds or at Oxford, 
where the scenes seem to have been particu- 
larly well arranged. Of course, a wedding is 
a somewhat serious affair and requires con- 
sideration ; but we surely could have spent less 
time upon our trousseaux in Paris. Indeed, I 
find my smart gowns so much in the way, in 
travelling, that I have packed them in a trunk 
by themselves and sent them off to the steamer. 

Dr. Mclvor went with us to the garden of 
the Yorkshire Philosophical Society this after- 
noon. Here are the ruins of St. Leonard's 
Hospital and of St. Mary's Abbey, that lovely 
ruin with its beautiful pointed arches and rich 
early English decoration. We walked all 

167 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

around and about St. Mary's, as it covers quite 
a large area, and Dr. Mclvor, who is no Papist, 
but a blue Scotch Presbyterian, says that we 
can form no idea of the amount of good that 
was done among the sick and poor by these 
religious houses, in days when the only hos- 
pitals were those connected with monasteries 
and convents. He has been looking over the 
records of the Hospital and Abbey and was 
much impressed by the vast amount of prac- 
tical benevolence exercised by the good 
brothers. 

In the Hospitium, which was the guest hall 
of the Abbey, there are most interesting relics 
of the Eoman life in York, intimate personal 
effects like those at Pompeii, ornaments, rings, 
bracelets, armlets worn by the children; and, 
as if to bring that old life very close to that of 
our own day, a coil of hair worn by a Eoman 
lady, fastened by jet pins. This coil of hair 
was found in a leaden cofiSn which was enclosed 
within one of stone. Trinkets worn by proud 
Eoman ladies were found in many of these 
stone coffins, placed there by the hands of those 
who loved them, and here are children's toys, 
whistles, and shells, which they gathered at the 
seashore just as children do to-day, and bits 
of glass and earthenware with which they 

168 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



played their games, hop-scotch, or whatever 
was the Koman equivalent for that sport. 

Downstairs in a lower room, are the inscrip- 
tions which the officers and soldiers of the 
legion had carved upon the tombs of their 
wives and children; for example, 

'*To the Gods, to Manes, to a most innocent 
child, who lived but ten months, her father 
of the Sixth Legion Victorius inscribes this." 
These old inscriptions and despoiled tombs, 

" Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recalls, 
Urns without ashes, tearless lacrymals ! " 

seemed to throw a bridge across the ages and 
bring near to our sympathies those Roman 
fathers to whom wife and children were as 
dear as with us to-day, made dearer perhaps 
because of their exile from their own sunny 
land to this north country where the winds are 
cruel and the winters cold and long. No won- 
der that the luxurious Romans set about mak- 
ing their homes more comfortable, by heating 
them with hot-air pipes, in this curious climate 
where even when summer prevails out of doors 
winter still lingers inside of the houses ! Other 
people besides the Italians need to go out of 
doors to get warm, and what must these houses 
be like in winter? 

169 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Dr. Mclvor says that the English keep them- 
selves warm with an ** interlining of good beef 
and frequent libations of beer.'' How the 
Scotch keep warm he did not say, but Walter 
thinks that he knows, remembering the story 
that was told about Prince Louis of Batten- 
berg, who had to drink Scotch whisky to keep 
his knees warm when he wore the Highland 
costume. 

We should not have seen so many of the 
treasures of this museum in one afternoon had 
not our young Scotchman known just where 
to take us, and what would most interest us. 
He afterward showed us a bit of an ancient 
street, like the Appian Way at Eome, or the 
street of tombs at Pompeii, from which many 
stone coffins have been excavated. Only per- 
sons of rank and wealth were buried in these 
stone coffins, of which we have seen such a 
number; the poorer classes and slaves were 
disposed of with much less ceremony. Of mo- 
saic pavements, statues, vases, and more usual 
relics, there is a vast collection. 

The air here is fine and bracing, we have 
had several beautifully clear days, and on the 
whole I feel disposed to recommend York as 
a good summer resort. We are well and happy, 
Lisa growing fat and rosier every day, all 

170 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



except Cliristine, who is not well and has de- 
veloped a troublesome sore throat which makes 
Tis feel quite anxious about her. If she is not 
decidedly better to-morrow I shall send for a 
doctor, as our landlady tells us there is an 
excellent ^^ medical man'' quite near. Dr. 
Mclvor, who for some reason is called *^Mr. 
Mclvor," looks so young that we feel it is 
wiser to have an M.D. of more experience. 
We always call him Doctor, because ^^ there is 
no use getting into their queer ways, over 
here," as my ardent American expresses it, 
^^and if we begin there is no knowing where we 
shall end." I do not myself anticipate any 
very serious ending even if we should happen 
to fall in with English ways, and am disposed 
when in Rome to do as the Romans do. 



Angela writes 



August 6th. 



It is Angela herself who is writing to you 
and from old England, dearest Margaret, 
strange as it may seem to you when you 
thought you had shipped her off to Austria 
for the rest of the summer. Z. dropped her 
pen in the middle of her letter and asks me to 
finish it. Why, I will tell you later, but you 
know that the only way that I can write is to 

171 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

begin at the beginning, like the story books. 
In the first place I left Carlsbad a day earlier 
than I expected because the Browns were com- 
ing over to London and kindly offered to bring 
me with them. In this way I missed a letter 
from Z. and only realized, when I was nearing 
York, that I had not the most remote idea 
where she and Walter were stopping. I put 
my poor wits to work and decided to go to the 
post-office and get the Leonards' address there. 
You may remember, or you may not, that it is 
sometimes difficult to get an address at the 
post-office. I had forgotten the fact and was 
surprised when the man flatly refused to give 
it to me. I used my softest persuasions all 
to no purpose, and was on the point of turning 
away, feeling quite non-plussed, when suddenly 
a tall, sandy-haired young man, who was writ- 
ing at one of the desks, crossed the room, and 
with an apology for intruding, asked me if I 
were not the young lady whom Mr. and Mrs. 
Leonard were expecting the next day. After 
that, the man at the boxes would have given 
me anything I wanted and smiled and beamed 
upon me as I walked off with the lanky youth. 
He offered to take me to the house where the 
Leonards were stopping, which, he said, was 
not far, only a five minutes' walk if I did not 

172 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



mind that. No, I did not mind anything so 
long as I was on my way to Z. It never oc- 
curred to me, until we had gone some little 
distance, how perfectly ridiculous it was for 
me to be starting off with this stranger because 
he claimed to know the Leonards, but there 
was something in his face and bearing that in- 
spired confidence, and mine was not misplaced 
this time, as Z. greeted my escort as a friend, 
and thanked him warmly for bringing me to 
her, without even stopping to ask when, or how, 
we had met. As soon as we were alone, I asked 
Z. what in the world was the matter, she looked 
so pale, really ill, all her bright color gone and 
her eyes as heavy as if she had not slept for 
a week. **Has "Walter been treating you very 
badly, Z. dearT' I asked. 

^'Walter! oh, Angela! how can you! Wal- 
ter is a saint,'' and with this Z. dropped her 
head upon my shoulder and wept. 

^^Well now, don't cry about it," I said in 
my most soothing tone. '^I know that I should 
weep if I were married to a saint, but you and 
I have rather different ideas upon that sub- 
ject." Then Z. told me that Christine had been 
seriously ill and was still very weak, and that 
when they were most anxious about her their 
doctor had been obliged to go to London to 

173 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

attend a medical congress and had left Dr. 
Mclvor, my post-office acquaintance, in charge 
of the case. Walter came in, in the midst of 
our confab, and assured me that Christine was 
much better, mending rapidly, and that Dr. 
Mclvor was taking good care of her, and that 
he, for his part, preferred him to the older 
''medical man." 

Walter evidently feels that Z. is unneces- 
sarily anxious about Christine; but it is tragic 
to have anyone ill in a strange land, and the 
M.D. does look young. Small wonder that he 
knew his way to the house so well, as he pays 
two or three visits a day! He has just set up 
for himself around the corner and is glad 
enough to get a patient, I fancy. I give you 
the situation and will add a line in a day or 
two to tell you how we are progressing. 

August 8th. 

Christine has improved so rapidly in two 
days, as children are wont to do, that Z. has 
actually left her in my care and gone otf with 
Walter for a day at Durham. She found out, 
when she was in London, that Mrs. Browning 
was born somewhere near Durham, and noth- 
ing will satisfy her but to see the place. I 
don't think she will ever find the house, and 

174 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



Walter realizes that it is a wild-goose chase; 
but he would cheerfully set out on a trip to 
the moon with Z., if the new balloons were in 
order for such an expedition, just for the sake 
of getting her away from Christine and into 
the open for a day. They have taken Lisa with 
them, as she is a good little traveller, and I 
am elevated to the dignity of head nurse. We 
really have an excellent trained nurse from 
the hospital ; but I am in charge and she treats 
me with great respect. Dr. Mclvor said yes- 
terday that Christine was well enough to sit 
up for an hour ; but Z. demurred, said the doc- 
tor was young and daring, etc. She is more 
timid about taking risks than Walter ; but then 
she is so conscientious that she would always 
be more careful about other people's property 
than with her own. Do you remember the story 
of the colored woman who set fire to her shanty 
and burned her children up? When some per- 
son objected to such a proceeding a neighbor, 
another *^ colored lady," said, ** Well, they were 
her own chillen, and she had a right to burn 
them up." Walter is not disposed to carry 
things to any such extreme; but I saw plainly 
that he was anxious to have Christine try 
her wings a bit, so when Dr. Mclvor came to 
pay his morning visit, I said very gravely, 

175 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

^* Christine is weak, of course, and not able to 
sit up to-day, I suppose. '* If I had put it the 
other way and asked a leading question he would 
have said no, at once, being a Scotchman; but 
to the question put this way, he answered de- 
cidedly, '^Miss Christine is able to sit up. She 
will be the better for it.'' So having medical 
authority I went a step further, all in the pres- 
ence of the nurse, of course, and remarked that 
the balcony was warm and sunny in the after- 
noon. 

*^Very good," said the M.D. ''Let Miss 
Christine have an hour on the balcony this 
afternoon; shall I come to help you?" ''Oh! 
not at all," I replied, ''the nurse and I can 
manage beautifully." 

Now was not that generalship? You see I 
put all the responsibility on the "medical 
man." I am so glad that Christine's malady 
is not of a catching kind; indeed one does not 
hear quite so much about germs over here as 
with us. Perhaps because these old buildings 
are so saturated with germs, they think that a 
few more or less will make no difference. 
However that may be, I am allowed to be with 
Christine as long as I choose, and she had a 
gala day, playing jack straws and old maid 
all morning. A game of old maid between 

176 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



three spinsters, the nurse, who is young and 
what Walter calls ^*a good looker," making a 
third, is really exciting, even when one of them 
is under age. But this was nothing to the 
excitement of the afternoon when, after Chris- 
tine had had her luncheon and a nap, we decked 
her off in my pink tea-gown, which gave some 
color to her pale cheeks, and put her in a big 
arm-chair, — they have nothing as civilized as 
a rocking-chair here, — and carried her out on 
the balcony for afternoon tea. Miss H., who 
was in the plot, sent us up an extra good tea, 
buttered scones and a delectable cake that they 
have here, like sweet pastry and so hard that 
you have to break it with a hatchet; but de- 
licious when you get into it. We were just try- 
ing to break the tea cake with the poker, having 
no hatchet at hand, when Dr. Mclvor suddenly 
appeared, and seeing our dilemma showed us 
how a quick blow with the dull side of a table 
knife would reduce the cake to terms or, better 
still, to slivers. 

I think that he was just a bit uneasy about 
his patient, but when he saw Christine's beam- 
ing face he was reassured and entered in the 
spirit of the celebration, drinking about as 
many cups of tea as old Dr. Johnson and tell- 
ing stories which were much funnier than he 

12 177 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

knew because of his Scotch brogue. It was 
quite a surprise to me, as he is usually so grave 
and dignified although by no means a dour 
Scotchman; but this afternoon he behaved like 
a boy out of school, and ended by giving us a 
Scotch toast. 

" Here's tae us. 
Wha's like us? Nane ava! 
Wha's as guid ? Dooms few ! " 

Then, seeing that Christine looked a bit tired, 
he became suddenly quite serious and picking 
her up in his arms carried her off to her bed, 
where she slept for an hour and looked so 
bright when Z. and Walter returned that I 
had courage to confess my sins. As this is a 
case of '^All 's well that ends well," and the 
child has been improving ever since I took her 
out on the balcony for fresh air, the parents 
vote me a superior nurse and Dr. Mclvor would 
give me a diploma I am quite sure. Z. confided 
to me to-day that it was worth all the trouble 
and anxiety of Christine's illness to have the 
child become so fond of her. As if any one 
could help being fond of Z. ! She is the same 
dear old romantic thing, only more so if 
that is possible. I really think that Wal- 
ter appreciates what a treasure he has 

178 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



secured. Walter and Z. are a perfect Darby and 
Joan; but you and Allan are probably quite 
as bad, so there is no use complaining of them 
to you. This falling in love is a queer thing. 
We three boon companions have been scattered 
to remote parts of the globe by the tender pas- 
sion. I have only got back to Z. by the skin 
of my teeth, and you are still far away from me. 
*^The only thing for you to do, Angela " 

Yes, I can hear you say it, dear; but I 
don't intend to. My heart is to be fancy free 
and my role to play the part of maiden aunt to 
you and Z., coming to look after you both in all 
emergencies like the present, and so to be a 
blessing to the rising generation. 

The M.D. has been more sedate than ever 
since our hilarious afternoon. He probably 
thinks he compromised his dignity by being 
perfectly natural and is now making amends 
for it by being quite formal. He wishes to 
conduct me through the museum of Eoman 
antiquities. You know that antiquities are not 
exactly in my line; but I shall have to accept 
the invitation or Walter will think I am neg- 
lecting all my opportunities for higher educa- 
tion and all that. Of course, he is going with 
us, as he is really quite mad about these old 
things, even worse than Z. 

179 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

August 10th. 

Driving and motoring are the order of the 
day, as Christine is able to be about and the 
fine dry air is good for her. The views of the 
walls and Cathedral from the various drives 
are so interesting; and just where the Ouse 
and the Foss join forces and make a great 
river there is a charming little bridge, the Blue 
Bridge, on which the names of the officers and 
soldiers of this district who fell in the Crimean 
War are inscribed. Is not that a sweet 
memorial! So much better than a great statue 
in a park ! It is all so picturesque, — the bridge 
overgrown with trees and vines, and a fine 
promenade near by, which extends all the way 
to Fulford landing. 

There has been no rain for two days and the 
sun is so warm that the '^inclement weather 
in doors" has given place to something like 
summer. We drove to Bishopthorp this after- 
noon, the palace of the Archbishop of York, 
who is the Primate of England as the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury is Primate of all England. 
To the American mind this may seem a distinc- 
tion without a difference but it means a great 
deal over here. Z. has found a curious little 
tale about the controversy between the Sees 
of York and Canterbury, which she begs me 

180 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



to copy for you: ''Many and bitter contro- 
versies raged around the question. In 1176, 
at the Council of Westminster, Richard of Can- 
terbury arriving first seated himself in the 
place of honor on the right hand of the Papal 
legate Huguccio. Eoger de Pont PEveque, 
Archbishop of York, entering later seated him- 
self in Canterbury's lap! He was violently re- 
moved and ejected with cries of 'Away! away! 
betrayer of St. Thomas! His blood is still 
upon thy hands.' " 

Very indecorous of these reverend gentle- 
men to be sitting in each other's laps, was it 
not? Especially so as the "Most Reverend 
and Right Honorable" of York seems to have 
been of French extraction and should have had 
better manners. It appears that Roger of 
York was suspected, and not without founda- 
tion, of having instigated the murder of 
Thomas a Becket. Z. is my authority for all 
of this, which interests her immensely, as she 
took a full course of Becket at Canterbury. 
She says that the long dispute was finally set- 
tled by Pope Innocent VI who gave the Bishops 
of the two Sees titles as nearly alike as the law 
would allow. 

"For a good free fight, give me a religious 
controversy!" exclaimed Walter, which made 

181 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

the Scotchman laugh immoderately, thinking 
all the while, no doubt, of Jenny Geddes and 
her three-legged projectile. 

Everything was peaceful enough at Bishop- 
thorp, this afternoon, and a beautiful place it is, 
with a lawn sloping down to the river and fine 
trees and flowers. We were shown the lower 
rooms of the palace, as they call it, and some 
interesting portraits, which was so kind that 
I wondered why the family in residence did not 
extend its hosioitality to the extent of inviting 
us to have tea with them on the lawn. These 
tea tables set out on the green are so alluring, 
and as we were the only visitors this afternoon 
it would have been a graceful act of interna- 
tional courtesy that would not have seriously 
taxed the episcopal larder. I am quite sure 
that if a party of English people happened to 
be visiting at any mansion at home, public or 
private, where refreshments were being served 
on the lawn, they would have been cordially 
invited to assist. And then our English brothers 
and sisters have grown so fond of us since the 
Spanish war, and since President Roosevelt 
took a hand in settling the difficulty between 
Eussia and Japan, that no amount of civility 
would surprise us. Even English women 
whom we meet seem to realize that we have 

182 



ROMAN ENGLAND 



a President who counts for something in the 
affairs of the great world, and the first ques- 
tion that the men ask us is, ^^What is your 
President going to doT' They refer, of 
course, to that much-discussed ^^ third term/^ 
as if anyone under the shining sun could an- 
swer such a question! 

We are to motor to Aldborough to-morrow 
to see the Eoman museum there, but quite 
aside from that it will be enchanting to have a 
spin over these fine roads. Z. is anxious to 
see Coxwold where Sterne was vicar in his 
last years and where he wrote **The Sentimen- 
tal Journey, '* and Walter wants to see the 
battle-field of Marston Moor. It is quite a 
question whether the literary, warlike, and 
antiquarian tastes can be accommodated in one 
day even with the help of a motor, but Walter 
will manage it if it can be done. 

By the way, Z. did see a place near Durham 
where they said Elizabeth Barrett was born, 
and they saw the register of her birth, in 1806, 
in the parish church near by. She is quite tri- 
umphant, and yet she has regrets because this 
date settles conclusively the much-discussed 
question as to whether Elizabeth was three or 
six years older than Robert. Z. would prefer 
to have only three years between them, but it 

183 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

really does not seem as if this fact should 
make much difference to us as it did not seem 
seriously to disturb the ^^contracting parties/' 
as our newspapers would dub the two poets. 

The day after our Aldborough jaunt we go 
to London. The M.D. has announced that he 
intends to meet us there, as he wishes to be in 
London for the last days of the British Medical 
Association. Miss H. tells us that he is a laird 
in his own country, which probably does not 
mean much as I have heard that lairds are 
quite plentiful in Scotland; but since hearing 
this Z. is impressed by something about the 
carriage of his head which she considers a 
mark of blood. He certainly is not handsome ; 
quite the contrary; but he is quite good fun, 
and has a fine sense of humor, although **a bit 
slow about taking another fellow's jokes," as 
Walter puts it. Z. has been so much occupied 
with Christine that she seems to have forgotten 
how to write, but she will doubtless find out how 
to use her pen when she gets to London, and 
in any case you will be sure to hear from 
Your devoted 

Angela. 



VIII 
SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



Cavendish Square, August 13tli. 
London is of course much less gay than when 
we left it in July. Hyde Park, where English 
beauty and East Indian rhododendrons both 
bloomed so luxuriantly in the season, is quite 
deserted, its much-coveted penny chairs unoc- 
cupied; its long line of carriages and their 
burden of gayly-dressed women, adorned with 
boas, floating veils, and scarfs, which they 
carry off with such infinite grace and charm, 
have betaken themselves to pastures new. The 
pink geraniums and daisies in the window 
boxes on Grosvenor and Berkeley Squares, and 
along the upper part of Piccadilly, have faded 
and others have not come to take their places. 
In the shops we meet more American than 
English women, for this is the season when 
the London shopkeeper reaps a rich harvest 
from the trans- Atlantic tourist. The fact that 
**the dun year's brilliant flower" has ceased 
to bloom does not disturb us. London is never 

185 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

really dull. The theatres are all open, the 
grass in its many parks is as green as in June, 
and the procession of omnibuses bearing their 
populations on top, and announcing on their 
many-colored sides that patent medicines and 
pre-digested foods are still in favor, continue 
to stream, ^Ye abreast, along the Strand and 
by Oxford and Eegent Streets and on and out 
to places with captivatingly rural and refresh- 
ing names, as Hampstead Heath, Shepherd's 
Bush, Forest Gate, Kew Gardens and the like. 
We long to stop each one as it passes, and 
climb up the narrow steps to the dizzy heights 
above, and stagger into a seat and be borne 
away, far above the ^'madding crowd,'' to the 
regions of pure delight that lie all around and 
about the great city of London. And then, not 
the least attractive, so many of the old historic 
buildings and galleries are open and waiting 
to be visited by the '^Abounding American," as 
one of the English magazines is pleased to call 
us. Indeed a great part of London, down by 
the Strand, and Ludgate Hill, and by the Tem- 
ple and the Inns of Court, only recognizes the 
advent of summer by the spreading forth of 
its greenery and never knows that going-away 
time has really come. 
Dr. Mclvor met us at the station, as he came 

186 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



a day in advance of us in order to attend the 
last sessions of the British Medical, and al- 
though his chief business is with the M.D.'s, 
he seems to have plenty of time to devote to us. 
The business meetings of the Association are 
really over and the parties have begun. Last 
night, through the courtesy of our young 
Scotchman, we attended a reception at the Bo- 
tanical Gardens. The grounds were en fete, 
beautifully illuminated, the flowers gorgeous, the 
Victoria Regia blooming absolutely on time, 
besides which we had the honor of being re- 
ceived by royalty, or, to be more exact, by those 
nearly related to royalty. Do you remember 
being at a garden party here some years ago 
when the Duchess of Teck was receiving! She 
was so very stout but handsome and with so 
much graciousness and charm of manner! 

To-day, again through an invitation from 
Dr. Mclvor, we spent the morning at Windsor. 
It is really an advantage to follow a proces- 
sion, on such occasions, as all doors flew open 
before us, and we had the satisfaction of being 
inside the Albert Chapel and having a nearer 
view of all the tombs, memorials and medal- 
lions, which you and I only saw through the 
grating when we were here. There are some 
beautiful things in the Chapel and it is all 

187 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

very rich, but on the whole it does not seem to 
me quite in good taste. The noble recumbent 
figures of the Prince Consort and of his young- 
est son, the Duke of Albany, we admired very 
much, and the bronze figure of the Duke of 
Clarence is impressive, not only for its beauty 
but because of all that his early death meant 
to his family and to England. Even more pa- 
thetic, is the cenotaph erected by Queen Vic- 
toria in memory of the Prince Imperial of 
France, in St. George ^s Chapel. You must 
remember this beautiful tomb, with a reclining 
figure of the young Napoleon, all of pure white 
marble, with the most touching inscriptions on 
the sides of the base. On one side are expres- 
sions of grateful affection for the royal family 
of England, copied from the Prince's will, and 
on the other is a most beautiful prayer, of his 
own composition, used by him in his private 
devotions. This young Prince seems to have 
had some fine and noble traits, and the poor 
boy, who had his first experience of the horrors 
of war at Sedan, certainly deserved a better 
fate than to fall a victim to a wretched blunder. 
Such a perfectly useless sacrifice of a young 
life! Angela says that it was ** tragic"; but 
Dr. Mclvor, who has a strong Scotch prejudice 
against the whole Bonaparte family, says that 

188 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



it would have been even more tragic, and that 
the history of France would have been re- 
written in many a bloody page, had the Prince 
lived. 

That may be ; but it was an infinitely pathetic 
life and death, and this cenotaph was a grace- 
ful tribute from the mother of many children 
to the brave, young son of the lonely Empress 
at Chiselhurst who, in a few months, lost all 
that made life worth living. 

There is much to interest one in this chapel, 
with all its garter stalls and rich emblematic 
decorations, but we spent most of our time 
before Wyatt's exquisite monument to the 
Princess Charlotte, which looked more beau- 
tiful than ever to-day with the warm golden 
light, streaming through the colored glass win- 
dows above it, upon that perfect ascending 
figure of the young mother with her child in 
her arms. It is not only so lovely in design 
and execution but is the most artistically ar- 
ranged monument that I have ever seen. 
Christine was so much interested, when we ex- 
plained to her that the young Princess and her 
baby had died at the same time, and that she 
would have been Queen of England had she 
lived, that we have promised to take her to the 
National Gallery to see a portrait of the Prin- 

189 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

cess Charlotte, and to Kensington Palace, where 
there are some memorials of her. 

The King has greatly improved the interior 
of Windsor Palace, since you were here. Some 
of the rooms have been refurnished and are 
very handsome, especially the great dining- 
halls with their paintings and fine carvings by 
Grindling Gibbons. Those used for the enter- 
tainment of royal guests were shown to us, but 
we did not see the private apartments of the 
royal family, as they are no longer shown to 
the public. The paintings all through the 
palace are so interesting that we began to 
realize the disadvantage of being in a proces- 
sion, as we were often obliged to ^'move on" 
when we should have preferred to stand still 
before the Van Dycks, Lelys, Knellers and 
Gainsboroughs of the many French, English 
and Spanish royalties. The full-length por- 
trait of Queen Henrietta Maria, and of Mary, 
Queen of Scots, are the most beautiful of their 
many portraits, and the lovely Van Dyck of 
the children of Charles I is something one 
would like to carry away bodily. 

Out upon the terrace which overlooks the 
river we enjoyed the extensive view of Wind- 
sor Park, the Eton School buildings, and of 
Stoke Manor and Park in the distance. The 

190 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



guide showed us the window where Queen 
Anne was sitting when the news of the victory 
of Blenheim was brought to her. It seemed 
very real to us when we thought of the Queen 
looking out upon this same beautiful view that 
we were gazing upon, especially so as we hap- 
pened to be here on the two hundred and third 
anniversary of this battle. The bearer of the 
good news, Colonel Daniel Parke, is intimately 
connected with our own history. Perhaps you 
have seen his portrait in Virginia, as he settled 
there and became the ancestor of the Custis 
family, who still own the portrait of this dis- 
tinguished gentleman, dressed in a grand suit 
of crimson velvet with the Queen's gift, her 
miniature surrounded by diamonds, suspended 
from his neck. 

Inside the palace we saw the busts of the 
Dukes of Marlborough and Wellington, which 
are always decorated with fresh banners by 
their respective families before twelve noon 
on the anniversaries of the battles of Blen- 
heim and Waterloo. The Blenheim banners 
did look fresh and new, and the guide said that 
the title, or property, was in some way involved 
in the proper performance of this ceremony. 

I thought so often of Miss Burney, as we 
walked along the lovely terrace with the gar- 

191 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

dens beneath. She speaks so much of this 
terrace and of walking there with the ^^good 
Queen" and her children, especially with the 
pretty little Princess Amelia, and of Mrs. 
Delany, who was so frequently here with the 
royal family. 

August 14th. 

Angela, with her usual amiability, offered 
to take the girls upon a little shopping tour, 
this morning, and Walter and I, feeling quite 
free from the responsibilities of life, have car- 
ried out a long-cherished plan of spending a 
day in the haunts of Dr. Johnson. 

Before starting on this eighteenth century 
pilgrimage, he went with me to the church in 
which Mrs. Browning was married, stopping 
on our way at the house No. 50 Wimpole Street, 
where the Barretts lived. Neither of these 
places is far from the house where we are 
stopping on Cavendish Square; indeed these 
dingy old streets are set thick with associations 
of the good and great, and of the wild and 
wicked as well, who are, as Walter remarks, 
^' quite as interesting if not more so." Byron 
was born at 24 Holies Street, near by; George 
Eomney, *^the man in Cavendish Square," as 
Sir Joshua was wont to call him, lived and 
painted for years at No. 32, and Barry Corn- 

192 



SIX DAYS IN LONDONj 



wall had a house on Harley Street where he 
welcomed all the literati of his time. On Great 
Portland Street, around the corner from our 
hotel, poor old ''Bozzy^' died, after completing 
the great work of his life, and our own Ben- 
jamin West lived for years on Newman Street. 
We could make historic and literary pilgrim- 
ages, within a small radius of Cavendish 
Square, for a fortnight and still have some- 
thing left to do. 

We had no difficulty in finding the church 
near Marylebone Road which they call the 
New Marylebone Church, although it looks old 
and dismal, without having any of the beauty 
that the years bring to the really ancient 
churches. The interior is cold enough in at- 
mosphere, as well as in architecture, to have 
given the poor bride a chill upon the spot, this 
churchly gloom being added to all the trying 
circumstances attending her marriage. 

The place in front of the altar was shown 
to us where Elizabeth Barrett stood during the 
ceremony, *'more dead than alive," as she 
expressed it, **and only supported by my trust 
in him." To this church Robert Browning 
came whenever he was in London, and never 
failed, we were told, to kiss the floor where 
her feet had rested. 

13 193 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

There was no service this morning, and the 
only person in the church was an old char- 
woman who was washing np the floor. She 
stopped in the midst of her work, and went off 
in search of the clerk, who looked up the mar- 
riage record, under date of September, 1846, 
and showed us the signature of Eobert Brown- 
ing and of Elizabeth Barrett Moulton Barrett, 
written in a small tremulous hand. The name 
of the curate is given, and one of the two 
witnesses to the ceremony was the faithful 
Wilson, Mrs. Browning's maid. The clerk also 
showed us the programme of the jubilee cele- 
bration of 1896, upon which occasion the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury and many other distin- 
guished persons were present, — a sad golden 
wedding anniversary, when the bride and groom 
were both dead! After we left the church we 
took an omnibus down to Piccadilly, this being 
a democratic expedition and no cabs permitted, 
and so by Trafalgar Square to the Strand and 
St. Clement Danes, which is so oddly placed 
across the street near where the Strand sud- 
denly becomes Fleet Street. Dr. Johnson used 
to worship in this old church and we should, by 
rights, have seen the interior, but it seems 
always to be closed and the police could suggest 
no means of opening those inhospitable doors. 

194 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



Fleet Street, where once flowed the pleasant 
little river Fleet, is filled with associations of 
Johnson, Boswell, Goldsmith, and all the mem- 
bers of the genial circle that was continually 
meeting at the Mitre, the Cheshire Cheese, and 
all the many inns of this part of London. At 
the Cheshire Cheese we saw the old dictionary- 
maker's chair, so worn that it was clamped in 
places to keep it from falling to pieces. In 
Gough's Square, near by, is the four-storied 
house, with its many chimneys, in which John- 
son wrote the greater part of his dictionary. 
It was in this house that his wife died, and 
here he afterwards lived with the strangely 
assorted family that his kindness of heart had 
drawn around him — Miss Williams, an impe- 
cunious poetess ; Levett, a broken-down apothe- 
cary, and several others in similar condition. 
*'Here," says Mrs. Thrale, *'he nursed whole 
nests of people, the lame, the blind, the sick, 
and the sorrowful." A nest, it was, in which 
the poor old birds were frequently unpleasant 
and quarrelsome, as the benevolent host him- 
self described them in one of his last letters: 
'^Williams hates everybody; Levett hates Des- 
moulins, and does not love Williams; Des- 
moulins hates them both; Poll loves none of 
them." 

195 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

As we learned that Dr. Jolinson had lived in 
no less than sixteen houses in London, we gave 
up any idea we may have entertained of visit- 
ing all of his homes, and turned our steps 
toward Chancery Lane, through which little 
^'Miss Flite" passed so often on her fruitless 
errands. Eeturning by Fetter's Lane and the 
new Record Office, we crossed Fleet Street and 
strolled down winding lanes to the Temple 
Church. Is there anything in all London more 
interesting than this round church, which was 
built as a memorial of the Holy Sepulchre, with 
its richly-carved Norman porch and its beauti- 
ful interior? On the stone floor lie the effigies 
of eight armed knights, all of whom have not 
been identified although the antiquarians seem 
pretty sure that one of them is Robert Ros, a 
Magna Charta baron. The church looks so 
many years older than the choir that it is not 
easy to believe that only fifty years or so lie 
between them. The choir is handsome and rich 
in decoration ; but is much less impressive than 
the lovely old round church. We walked 
through it and around it and, upon the north 
side near the master's house, we came upon the 
grave of Goldsmith in a quiet corner, under the 
shadow of an ivy-covered wall. A bunch of 
fresh flowers was laid upon the grave, which 

196 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



bears the simple inscription, ^^Here lies Oliver 
Goldsmith. ^ ' 

Wandering through the cloisters and in and 
out of courts, retracing our steps more than 
once, as we had not Gay^s Trivia to guide us 

" where winding alleys lead the doubtful way," 

we finally emerged upon the large open space 
called Brick Court. It was here, in chambers 
on the second floor, that Goldsmith lived during 
his last years, giving parties to young people 
where there were dancing and blind-man's 
buff, making many people happy and at the 
same time driving almost to madness, by the 
racket above him, the learned Mr. Blackstone, 
who was engaged upon his Commentaries in 
the room beneath. 

And then, joy of joys, by ways that I could 
not possibly describe, we came upon a still, 
green court where a fountain was playing. I 
don't see how we could have missed this lovely 
spot when we came to the Middle Temple Hall, 
which is quite near, and saw the long table 
where the Benchers dine, and the platform 
upon which Twelfth Night was acted before 
Queen Elizabeth, and all the other wonders of 
the Temple ; but as we came upon the fountain 
this morning it seemed quite new to us. Then 

197 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

remembering Dickens' description of Euth 
Pinch coming to meet her brother Tom near 
Fountain Court, we knew that this was the place 
toward which she was walking briskly, with 
^^the best little laugh upon her face that ever 
played in opposition to the fountain and beat 
it all to nothing/' And then, by pure accident 
in this most ** unlikely spot," as Tom says, the 
lover appeared instead of the brother. As 
John Westlock overtook the dainty little figure 
in the ^^ sanctuary of Garden Court'' and 
walked off with her, '^Merrily the fountain 
leaped and danced, and merrily the smiling 
dimples twinkled and expanded more and more, 
until they broke into a laugh against the basin 
rim, and vanished." 

The fountain could not have leaped and 
danced more merrily for Dickens' happy lovers 
than it leaped and danced and plashed for us 
to-day, throwing its spray high into the sunlit 
air and sprinkling with its diamond drops the 
many doves that were bathing and preening 
upon the brim, as in Pliny's famous basin in 
Rome. 

It was so cool and refreshing in this Court, 
under the shade of the great trees, here in the 
very heart of London, with no sound to break 
the stillness save the plashing of the fountain, 

198 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



that we were tempted to linger long. Some- 
where over beyond the Brick Court Johnson 
once lived, and behind us in the Crown Eow 
Offices Charles Lamb was born, in the midst 
of all that he afterward so loved, and beneath 
us, at the foot of the stone steps, is the rich 
green lawn of the Temple Gardens. Here, 
where there is a blaze of color to-day, scarlet 
and pink geraniums, the largest fuchsias I 
have ever seen, and lobelias as blue as the sea 
at Naples, in this fair garden, were plucked the 
**red and white roses of York and Lancaster." 
So Shakespeare tells us and so we believe; for 
Warwick says, — 

" This brawl today, 
Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, 
Shall send, beneath the red roses and the white, 
A thousand souls to death and deadly night." 

The green lawn slopes down to the Victoria 
Embankment and beyond is the Thames, on 
whose proud stream afloat passed many gay 
pageants to and from Westminster, and many 
a sorrowful company to the Tower below. 

We had some luncheon at a chop house not 
far away, and then by more winding ways, by 
Covent Garden and Clare Markets, and by 
Drury Lane Theatre and Lincoln's Inn Fields, 

199 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

and through a narrow dismal street, we 
reached *'Tom all alone ^s,'* the graveyard by 
whose iron gate poor Joe used to stand and 
upon whose stone steps Lady Dedlock was 
found dead, one chill morning. The old grave- 
yard will have more cheerful associations, in 
the future, as it seems to be used for a chil- 
dren's play-ground. 

Later in the afternoon we met Angela and 
the children and Dr. Mclvor at Gunter's, on 
Berkeley Square, where we had some tea and 
ices, the latter so delicious that we decided that 
their pastry cook must be a Londoner of Amer- 
ican extraction. Angela had some amusing 
shopping experiences to relate, and when I 
told Dr. Mclvor that when we stopped at St. 
Bartholomew's the curate was conducting the 
service with only one small boy in lieu of a 
congregation, and expressed my surprise at 
his devout attitude and responses, the Doctor 
laughed so immoderately that I really felt un- 
comfortable until he explained that these old 
churches were obliged to hold a certain number 
of services in order to retain their livings, and 
that my ** devout boy'' had probably been 
bribed to come to church and didn't at all 
enjoy being an entire congregation in one. 

Was not our day in the old city one of un- 

200 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



mixed delight? No wonder that Dr. Johnson 
exclaimed, when he sat with Bo swell at the 
Mitre Tavern, near Temple Bar: ^*Sir, the 
happiness of London is not to be conceived but 
by those who have been in it. I will venture to 
say there is more learning and science within 
the circumference of ten miles from where we 
sit than in all the rest of the kingdom.'' 

There is no other city in which we could 
have taken a walk among associations so inter- 
esting and so varied, except Rome. London 
and Eome, those two great cities so different 
and both so rich in background, in atmos- 
phere and association, are still the places 
that we return to again and again with fresh 
enjoyment. 

August 16th. 

With only six days in London, for Walter 
says that he must go to Oxford on Monday to 
meet his engagement, it is not easy to choose be- 
tween good, better and best. We wish to have 
Christine and Lisa see some of the buildings 
and places that they will be likely to remember, 
and in view of my own bewilderment over the 
Elgin marbles, which were to me somewhat like 
the Eleusinian Mysteries, we spent an hour 
in the British Museum this morning. This 
seems a short time for so vast a collection, too 

201 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

great for one mind to grasp in days, but it 
seems the part of wisdom to pick out a few 
things from the mass and concentrate upon 
them, rather than scatter one's interest over a 
number of objects. And so much can be seen 
in an hour if one knows a place as we know the 
Museum. We went straight to the Elgin mar- 
bles. How I should have loved to see these 
exquisite reliefs when I was a school-girl, and 
what advantages the girls of to-day have over 
us! They really should be much brighter. 
Here are these children suddenly brought face 
to face with the wonders of the world, and all 
that we have a right to expect of them is that 
they may carry away in their minds some scat- 
tered impressions of beauty and grace. Marvels 
from Assyria, from Egypt, from everywhere, 
are gathered here, and from Greece these ex- 
quisite marbles, the Three Fates from the 
Parthenon, and the long processions of grace- 
ful figures, moving to the sound of music, with 
their clinging, floating draperies, so lovely, 
broken and fragmentary as they are, that we 
wondered how they could have been more im- 
pressive in their perfection. * ' The last word in 
plastic art.'' Shall the world ever again pro- 
duce anything as beautiful, and will it ever 
re-capture 

202 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



" That long lost spell in secret given, 
To draw down gods and lift the soul to heaven " ? 

In the Graeco-Eoman room is the superb 
Discobolus, quoit-thrower, and the exquisite 
Aphrodite loosing her sandal; and here is the 
Demeter of Cnidos that you and I were never 
weary of looking at, — such strength and dig- 
nity of pose, and so much sweetness and nobil- 
ity of expression in the lovely womanly face! 
Broken and imperfect as it is, it still holds us 
fast by its serene beauty and human tender- 
ness, by which last attribute it might easily 
stand as a symbol of the universal motherhood. 
No children gather around the goddess, but one 
can well fancy them encircling her knees with 
their little arms and pillowing their heads upon 
her ample bosom, for love and protecting care 
are written upon the lines of the tender mouth 
and softly rounded chin of this generous and 
bountiful Ceres. 

Passing through the Roman galleries, where 
all the Emperors stand, I felt as if we were 
almost in the Museum of the Vatican with you 
and Allan, there is so much here to remind 
one of it ! Yet with all the art and beauty that 
we meet here, we must always miss those three 
marvellous figures standing close together, the 

203 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Laocoon, the '^Lord of the unerring bow,'^ and 
the perfect Antinous; and then, in a way, one 
naisses something of the Italian atmosphere 
that so irradiates its marbles, for which the 
cold gray light of this cold gray building gives 
us no equivalent. Here is the noble figure of 
Hadrian, whom we seem to know better since 
we have seen something of his works in the 
north of England, the strong, earnest face 
of one who has accomplished much and to whom 
the world has revealed much. Philosopher, 
lawmaker, nation builder, philanthropist and 
traveller, in his last days, when clouds and 
darkness gathered about him, how infinitely 
pathetic is the great Emperor's invocation to 
his own soul in view of its final journey! Dr. 
Mclvor was with us, and being fresh from his 
classical studies was able to repeat the well- 
known lines : 

" All, fleeting spirit ! ■wandering fire, 
That long" hast warmed my tender breast, 
Must thou no more this frame inspire, 
No more a pleasing- cheerful guest? 
Whither, ah, whither art thou flying? 
To what dark, undiscovered shore ? " 

"Was not our hour a profitable one? Instead 
of walking through miles of statues, which is 
one way of doing a gallery, we really enjoyed 

204 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



what we saw; and we did not quite neglect the 
porcelains and gems, as we went upstairs to 
see the precious stones, intaglios, and cameos, 
and above all to have a look at the Portland 
Vase, which is near the jewels, as it should be, 
being a gem of exquisite color. As we were 
admiring the cameo designs upon the sides, 
and marvelling over the ingenuity that had put 
together the hundred fragments into a perfect 
whole, Angela turned her laughing face to Dr. 
Mclvor, and said, ^^ After all, I don't think it 
is what it 's cracked up to be; do you?" Dr. 
Mclvor looked surprised and rather shocked, 
at Angela's lack of taste, and then seeing 
us all laugh, even the children, as we had just 
explained to them how the vase had been 
cracked and broken, he grasped the fact that 
a joke was in the air, and laughed so im- 
moderately that Walter warned him that he 
was in danger of being arrested by the guard, 
M.D.'s being especially unpopular here as it 
was a ^^ medical man" who once shattered the 
precious vase. Walter insists, now at nine 
P.M., that the Doctor is still laughing, adding, 
^^If these Scotchmen are a long time taking a 
joke, they know how to hold on to it all right!" 
Hampton Court in summer time is quite too 
attractive to be neglected, and we had an af ter- 

205 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

noon there in the galleries among the famous 
Lelys and Van Dycks, that you know so well, 
and in the grounds, by the lake, where swans, 
black and white, are always floating by under 
the bridges. Later on, we took a steam tram 
to Richmond, and climbed up a long hill to the 
Star and Garter, where we had tea on the ter- 
race and thought of that July day when we 
were all so merry here together. One of the 
very same waiters brought us our tea, a 
Frenchman, who beamed with delight when he 
saw us, called Angela ^^ Madame,'' asked after 
*^ Monsieur," and looked askance at Dr. 
Mclvor, wondering, I suppose, why Archie had 
left his fair bride so soon, and why another 
had taken his place. It was all so absurd that, 
just to see what would happen next, I talked 
to Angela about Archie until, for some unac- 
countable reason, she blushed rosy red, upon 
which Dr. Mclvor assumed his most serious 
professional air, became very distant in his 
manner to **the grown ups," and devoted him- 
self exclusively to Christine and Lisa for the 
remainder of the afternoon. 

The sail down the Thames, by the light of 
the crescent moon, was so enchanting that it 
would have dispelled depression much more 
profound than Dr. Mclvor 's, which yielded to 

206 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



the influence of the hour and the scene. We 
were soon talking together merrily, he relat- 
ing to us some quaint Scotch superstitions and 
folklore that we all delight in as much as the 
children, and Walter capping the Doctor's 
tales with some of our American folklore. 

Sunday, August 18tli. 
Is there anything in Puritan New England 
more Puritanical than a London Sunday? It 
really gives one some faint conception of 
what England must have been under the Pro- 
tectorate, and always comes as a fresh sur- 
prise to me after a sojourn on the Continent. 
One cannot fail to respect a nation that main- 
tains its own ideals so persistently, when only 
a narrow channel separates it from the gayest 
of Sunday keepers. However the brilliant 
throng, that we saw in Hyde Park earlier in 
the summer, may be spending its Sundays at 
Continental resorts, the mass of the British 
nation seems to respect the day. They very 
sensibly enjoy their parks in the afternoons, 
but how full the churches are in the mornings ! 
We have noticed this in the smaller towns, as 
well as in London. Petticoat Lane, which we 
visited this morning under Dr. Mclvor's guid- 
ance, seems to be governed by none of the regu- 

207 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 



lations that control the rest of London, for 
here was the Continental Sunday and we felt 
that we might be in Italy, France, anywhere 
except in England. Carts and booths lined the 
streets, npon which all sorts of wares were 
displayed, — shoes and old clothes, which the 
venders put on to show how good they were; 
high hats, disreputable and battered; second- 
hand silver plate and tinware, trumpery trink- 
ets and finery the worse for the wear, and any 
quantity of eatables, if we may so call the stale 
unsavory fish, meat and vegetables, and the 
unripe fruits, that were set forth upon these 
stalls. 

And yet, strange as it may seem, there was 
an undercurrent of gayety in Petticoat Lane. 
In some places the women and children were 
dancing to the music of a hand-organ or hurdy- 
gurdy, and everywhere there was chattering 
and chaffering. Perhaps it was a little more 
cheerful this morning because the day was 
unusually fine, and the general largess of fresh 
air and sunshine is something that the poorest 
street may share. 

Although we had, at Dr. Mclvor's request, 
worn our plainest and darkest clothes, and left 
our trinkets and watches at home, we noticed 
that a ** bobby" kept quite close to us all the 

208 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



time. We could see no necessity for this, for 
although there was poverty and wretchedness 
on all sides, we saw very few really hard and 
desperate faces. Dr. Mclvor, who is familiar 
with all of this region, says that there are 
depths of misery in some of these lanes and 
alleys that we could not possibly fathom. 
Once, when we were passing a group of men 
playing some game, he drew Angela's hand 
through his arm and hurried her along, mo- 
tioning us to follow quickly. I think that he 
was relieved when the tour of inspection was 
over; but as it appeared to us, the poverty 
was less abject than that of Liverpool, and 
alas! for our boasted New World prosperity, 
it seemed not much worse than many of the 
streets of our own cities. A number of foreign 
faces were among the London born. ^* Little 
Italys" there are here, as with us at home. 

Thinking this a good opportunity to see the 
People's Palace, we came out by Whitechapel 
Road and past Toynbee Hall, and took an om- 
nibus on Mile End Road. All this East End 
of London, made so familiar to us by Walter 
Besant's novel, is quite different, and more 
modern than the London of Johnson and 
Dickens that we wandered through on Wed- 
nesday, and is apparently more prosperous' 

14 209 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

than the Whitechapel district. Dr. Mclvor 
says that this quarter is chiefly inhabited by 
artisans. He lived here himself for a time, as 
one of the resident physicians at the London 
Hospital, which we passed. We were glad to 
see so much of the East End ; but unfortunately 
we found the People's Palace closed. 

Why should any good place be closed on a 
Sunday, when it is most needed, when the gin 
palaces and all the dens of iniquity are wide 
open? Quite aside from our disappointment 
in not seeing the ** Palace of Delight," this 
survival of Puritanism aroused our indigna- 
tion ; but we were somewhat mollified when the 
Doctor told us that the house was opened in the 
afternoons and evenings for organ recitals. 
So, in a comparatively Christian frame of 
mind, we made our way to Westminster Abbey, 
where we were joined by the children, some 
friends who are stopping at our house having 
brought them to meet us. 

We sat in the Poets' Corner of the Abbey 
near the tombs of Tennyson and Browning 
and Chaucer, with Dryden's, Longfellow's, and 
many more sculptured faces looking down upon 
us, and listened to a very good sermon from 
our favorite Canon Wilberforce, just as you and 
I have sat there so often. You know the Abbey 

210 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



so well that there is no use telling yon anything 
about it, but one thing which we saw may in- 
terest you. We have so often noticed fresh 
flowers on the tombs of Dickens and of some 
of the poets, but the other day when we were 
here we saw some white chrysanthemums upon 
the Andre monument, and a small cross of 
goldenrod to which a card was attached, with 
a few lines written upon it, saying, that 
'^ Every American schoolboy regrets the fate 
of Major Andre, and this goldenrod has been 
brought from Delaware, in America, as a 
tribute to the young English soldier." 

Some people, evidently English, had been 
reading the card and seemed puzzled by the 
words. I wondered if they never heard of 
Andre. Perhaps not, as the American Revolu- 
tion is a far less important event in their his- 
tory than in our own. I, for one, quite 
sympathize with the American schoolboy, but 
the men of the party both insist that when 
Andre put himself in the position of a spy he 
made himself liable to suffer the consequences, 
and had no right to expect anything else. 

Angela says that is a very cold-blooded way 
of looking at it and that the whole affair was 
** tragic,'' upon which she and Dr. Mclvor had 
an animated discussion. With all due respect 

2U 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

to Washington, it has always seemed to me 
that, in view of his youth and of many extenu- 
ating circumstances, the life of John Andre 
might have been spared, but Walter insists 
that the execution of young Hale by the British 
made the hanging of Andre a necessity accord- 
ing to the code of war. All the necessities of 
war are so horrible, that one is glad to look 
about this great Abbey and realize that here 
the victories of peace are quite as generously 
crowned as those of war. When shall we, in 
the streets of our capital, erect monuments to 
novelists, poets, philosophers, statesmen, sci- 
entists, philanthropists, and all the other great 
ones, who have helped to make life more livable, 
as they have done here, instead of the ever- 
recurring man on horseback? 

What a wonderfully thrilling and inspiring 
place the Abbey is, even if many of the monu- 
ments are not to our taste! We went to the 
gorgeous Henry VII Chapel, as I always do, 
to see again the recumbent figure of Mary, 
Queen of Scots, which, despite the fact that 
Baedeker speaks of it as ^^ inartistic,'' is quite 
lovely to my less critical eye. Here Mary Stu- 
art reigns in beauty, in death as in life, and 
is it not one of time's revenges that, even after 
Elizabeth had wreaked her worst upon her 

212 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



rival, Mary^s descendants still sit upon the 
throne of Great Britain, and are likely to sit 
there as long as England is a monarchy ! This 
reminds me of our afternoon at Kensington 
Palace, where we spent an hour or more among 
the associations of Mary Stuart's descendant 
by several removes. Here are many personal 
belongings of the late Queen, from her tiny 
black satin baby shoes to her wedding bonnet, 
a quite good-sized scoop trimmed with tulle 
and orange blossoms. It was pleasant to look 
at the Queen's old bonnet, and think how happ}^^ 
the bride was who wore it. You and I, for 
some reason, have never found our way to this 
old Palace. We went for the children's pleas- 
ure but we enjoyed it quite as much ourselves. 
They were delighted to see the Princess Vic- 
toria's playthings, such simple little wooden 
toys, Noah's arks and a doll's house with the 
plainest furniture, a great contrast to the elab- 
orate toys that children even in moderate cir- 
cumstances have to-day. I was especially 
interested in the Queen's library, which King 
Edward has placed here since his mother's 
death. All of her books seem to be in this 
collection, from those given to her in her baby- 
hood down to presentation copies from au- 
thors sent to her during the last years of her 

213 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

life. On the fly leaf of many of the earlier 
books is written, ^^To my beloved Victoria 
from her Mamma/' and upon one, of which I 
could not see the name, is written, ^'To my 
beloved Victoria on the day of her Confirma- 
tion," with the date, which was not a very 
early one, about 1835, a short time before she 
was crowned. These souvenirs were all inter- 
esting to me, as is everything connected with 
the very natural and sweet domestic life of the 
Queen and her family. Our Scotchman is not 
quite as much attached to Queen Victoria as I 
am, and Angela says: **She never could have 
been handsome, no matter how many times she 
was Queen of England, Empress of India, and 
all that,'' which latter title Dr. Mclvor scoffs 
at, calling it one of ^^ Dizzy's manufacture." 

In speaking to some English ladies, of our 
afternoon at Kensington Palace, they expressed 
great interest in what we had seen and regaled 
us with a rather amusing story about the Prin- 
cess Eoyal, who, according to all accounts, must 
have been a very high-strung and independent 
child. One day when little Victoria was work- 
ing in her garden, her royal mamma remon- 
strated with her on account of her extravagance 
in wearing gloves that she thought quite too 
good for the purpose, adding, **When I was a 

214 



SIX DAYS IN LONDON 



little girl, my dear, I never wore such good 
gloves to work in my garden." Upon which 
Victoria junior replied, ^'Oh, I dare say; but 
then you were not born Princess Eoyal of Eng- 
land!" Delicious, was n't it? I can almost hear 
the Queen laughing over the cleverness of her 
eldest born, as she had, I believe, some sense of 
humor although she did not show it when she 
administered chastisement to one of the young 
princes with the proverbial slipper, in the pres- 
ence of some dignitaries of the Court. There, I 
must really stop gossiping with you about the 
royal family and begin to pack, as our trunks go 
to Oxford, early to-morrow morning, by the car- 
rier. Does that not have a Dickensian sound? 



IX 

STORIED WINDOWS RICHLY DIGHT 



The Grilling, 

Oxford, August 19th. 

When our Scotchman left us last night we 
thought to see him no more, but he appeared 
this morning, bright and smiling, saying that 
he had had a letter from home, the night be- 
fore, which made it possible for him to spend 
a day with us in Oxford. Walter and I are 
glad to have him, and the children adore him 
and are never tired of his tales of fairies, 
bogies, and all the quaint lore in which the 
Scotch delight. 

And Angela! I hear you ask; and quite 
unreasonably, you must admit, as you know 
well that you and I could never quite under- 
stand Angela when there was any question 
of suitors. At times she is so charming to Dr. 
Mclvor that I tremble for his peace of mind, 
and again, without rhyme or reason, she is so 
short and crusty that I have to be so very nice 
to him to make amends, that Angela actually 

216 



STORIED WINDOWS 



accuses me of flirting with him, which I tell 
her is disrespectful to my gray hairs, and 
most ungrateful, when I was only trying to 
smooth over her asperities. He seems to have 
quite recovered his spirits since our Kichmond 
experience, and bears Angela's variations of 
temperature with great equanimity. I really 
have no right to speak of Dr. Mclvor as a 
suitor, so please look upon that as a figure of 
speech. He is apparently equally devoted to us 
all, except that he may be a little more attentive 
to Christine, of whose improved appearance 
he is very proud. He talks to Walter and to 
me much more than to Angela; but one nat- 
urally wonders why he accompanies us so 
persistently. He and Walter are congenial 
companions, to be sure, but is it for the love 
of Walter, or Christine, or for the sake of my 
beaux yeux that he seems ready to leave 
everything and follow us I Now he is talking 
of joining us in Devonshire and spending his 
summer vacation there. I fancy that like many 
another young doctor, there is more holiday 
than work in his life at present. 

Our journey to-day was enchanting, as we 
came from Wallingf ord to Oxford by the water 
ways that I love. At Wallingford, where we 
lunched upon every known variety of cold 

217 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

meat, — and it sometimes seems as if there were 
more cold meats to be had in England than 
anywhere else, — we had time before the boat 
started to walk about and see the old church 
where Blackstone, the great jurist, is buried, 
which was, of course, interesting to Wal- 
ter. A few miles above Wallingford the trial 
'^ Eights'' of Oxford are rowed. The river 
trip is most interesting, through a number of 
locks, and by picturesque villages and country- 
seats. All that was needed to make the after- 
noon a perfect success was sunshine, which has 
deserted us to-day, but even so the river was 
full of boating parties, the men in light summer 
costume, and the women in the delicate pinks 
and blues in which they delight. Surely there 
are no people who enjoy out-of-door life and 
make the best of their somewhat uncomfort- 
able climate as do the English — except the 
Scotch, perhaps. When we expressed surprise 
at seeing so many boats on the river this dull 
chilly afternoon, the Doctor said, *'Why, what 
would you have! It doesn't rain, and I do 
not believe we shall have more than a sprinkle 
before we get to Oxford." We had a quite 
lively sprinkle in the course of the afternoon, 
which did not, however, disturb the serenity of 
the water parties. 

218 



STORIED WINDOWS 



The Thames flows through level pasture 
lands and, in some places, is so narrow that it 
seems more like a winding meadow brook than 
a river, but it is infinitely picturesque with 
the trees and bushes growing so close to the 
shore on both sides that their reflections in the 
clear stream meet and mingle, while their 
branches dip and bathe their leaves in the 
sparkling water. Narrow as it is here one 
would not have the Thames an inch wider. In 
England more than in most places, we learn 
the beauty of landscapes in miniature, such as 
Constable gives us with his own irresistible 
charm. 

Just where the Thames becomes the Isis no 
one seems to be able to tell us. At Sandford, 
three miles from Oxford, we were still upon 
the Thames, and without any notice whatever 
we found ourselves floating upon the classic 
Isis near the picturesque Iffley Mill. You re- 
member it, I am sure, and the old Norman 
church behind the mill. We are coming some 
day to see it and its beautiful carved door- 
ways. At Culham Lock we passed under a 
curious bridge, with arches of four different 
shapes, and soon after we came to Sandford 
and the wooded slopes of Nuneham Courtenay, 
w^hich Hawthorne found "as perfect as any- 

219 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

thing earthly can be. ' ' Near Iffley, the Thames 
or the Isis, whichever it is, widens into quite 
a respectable river. Here the University races 
are rowed, and barges and house-boats abound. 
My only association with a house-boat is in 
Rudder Grange, but these floating domiciles 
are so well adapted to the conditions surround- 
ing them that it would, I fancy, be quite impos- 
sible to have the amusing experiences in any 
of them that befell the characters in Mr. Stock- 
ton's tale. The children are excited over the 
idea of keeping house in a boat, and I must 
confess that the idea appeals to my imagina- 
tion as well. Shall we come here some summer 
and take a house-boat for a month and learn 
to know this beautiful Thames, ^'turf and twig 
and water and soyle," — which, after all, can 
hardly boast a lovelier spot than by the lock 
at Iffley Mill, whose odd gables and straight 
tall poplars are suggestive of a landscape on 
the Seine rather than the approach to Eng- 
land's greatest university town. 

Near where the Cherwell flows into the Isis 
we caught a glimpse of many spires, and the 
square tower of Magdalen, and realized that 
we were coming into Oxford. At Folly Bridge 
we were met by a curious nondescript vehicle, 
more like a double hansom than anything else, 

220 



I 



STORIED WINDOWS 



in which we were driven to our lodgings. We 
are really in lodgings this time and most com- 
fortably situated in a suite of rooms which are 
students' quarters in term time. We have a 
large dining- and living-room combined, into 
which our bed-rooms ojDen, and so are quite en 
famille. Although we enjoy the freedom of 
this way of living, I have not given up my 
preference for the sociability of the table 
d'hote f which we enjoyed so much in York. 
Our front windows look down upon the High 
not far from Carfax, and we enter our lodging 
through a court that opens into a flower mar- 
ket filled with gorgeous autumnal flowers, 
which makes our coming and going somewhat 
festive and distinctly rural, although we are 
in the very heart of Oxford with more col- 
leges within walking distance than we could 
see in a fortnight. 

Miss Cassandra is here. We met her on 
the High, where one meets all one's acquaint- 
ances in Oxford. She is stopping with friends 
who live in a lovely country-seat near Iffley, but 
to-morrow she leaves for Cambridge to join 
her niece and visit other friends there. She 
seems always to have hosts of friends waiting 
to receive her, and like the royal family her 
advent is heralded in some way even if it does 

221 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

not get into the newspapers. Walter tells Miss 
Cassandra that he verily believes ^^that if she 
suddenly appeared upon an oasis in the desert 
of Sahara, she would find a friend sitting under 
a palm tree, fanning herself, and wondering 
why her camel is so late/' 

We were on our way to Christ Church and 
the Bodleian Library and begged Miss Cas- 
sandra to bear us company, which she was 
nothing loath to do. Angela and the children 
were fascinated by her, of course, and I 
watched Dr. Mclvor's face with considerable 
interest. He had never seen a Quakeress and 
Miss Cassandra's speech and manner evidently 
interested him, as he never took his eyes off 
her when she was talking, and asked me hun- 
dreds of questions about the Friends after- 
wards. He will never suffer from lack of 
questioning upon any and all subjects; but like 
most Scotch people he seems to object to an- 
swering questions, and when he does it is in 
such a roundabout way that we ^^have to dig 
out the meanings,'' as Angela says. This 
morning we were ^^ personally conducted" by 
the Doctor, who knows Oxford well, having 
taken some special courses here. He took us 
to see the old tombs and monuments at Christ 
Church, especially the shrine of St. Frideswide, 

222 



STORIED WINDOWS 



whose nunnery dates back to 740. The shrine, 
he says, was probably a ^^ watching chamber;" 
he also showed us arches and bits of the old 
nunnery walls which Cardinal Wolsey for- 
tunately left standing, although his intention 
was to pull down all of the ancient building and 
erect a magnificent structure to be called Cardi- 
nal's College. The Prior's tomb, that of Sir 
George Nowers, a companion of our dear Black 
Prince, and that of Lady Elizabeth de Monta- 
cute, who gave a meadow to Christ Church, are 
the oldest here and for some reason look even 
older than they are. We walked through the 
superb dining hall where so many portraits 
hang, one of Cardinal Wolsey in his brilliant 
scarlet robes, a striking portrait of Henry 
VIII, one of Queen Elizabeth, and many more. 
It is altogether a most gorgeous mediaeval hall, 
with its rich carvings of Irish oak and many 
armorial bearings, only second in richness to 
that at Westminster. From the dining hall we 
went down into the kitchens, which are very old 
and interesting, just as they were built by Wol- 
sey, reminding one by their size and substantial 
structure of the Kitchens of St. Louis. Miss 
Cassandra was particularly interested in a 
monster gridiron, or spit, on wheels, a relic of 
the cuisine of the past when a large number of 

223 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

students were cooked for at Christ's, many 
more, they tell ns, than are here to-day. 

We crossed the Great Quadrangle of Christ 
Church, the largest in Oxford, and coming out 
by the Tom Gate we were so near the Broad 
Walk that we were tempted to stroll under the 
trees to the narrow street that leads to 
Merton, and Corpus Christi. Eeally one 
cannot walk a hundred yards here with- 
out coming upon something rich and strange, 
like the old gateway of Merton, with the 
remarkable carvings over the arch of John 
the Baptist preaching in the Wilderness, 
Henry III, and other important personages of 
widely different periods. This gate, one of the 
oldest things in Oxford, is one of the most 
interesting and picturesque. 

By ways that we knew not and with very lit- 
tle walking Dr. Mclvor brought us to Oriel, 
whose beautiful windows overlook one of its 
quads, this college being blessed with two 
quadrangles. The associations of Oriel are 
simply overwhelming, as Sir Walter Raleigh, 
Bishop Butler, Keble the hymn-writer. Cardi- 
nal Newman, Dr. Arnold, Thomas Hughes, 
Bishop Wilberforce, Matthew Arnold and his 
friend Arthur Clough were all Oriel men. ^^A 
cloud of witnesses whose influence upon the 

224 



STORIED WINDOWS 



world is too great for one mind to grasp," as 
Miss Cassandra expresses it. The dear lady 
has a question which she hopes to have an- 
swered by some of the learned ones at the Bod- 
leian. She has heard that President Lincoln's 
Gettysburg address is used at Oxford, as an 
example of vigorous and terse English, and she 
wishes to know just how and when it is so used. 
This seems wonderful, almost beyond belief, 
at a seat of learning where a **well of English 
undefyled" has flowed from Dan Chaucer's 
time to our own. Dr. Mclvor is disposed to 
doubt the fact altogether, but Miss Cassandra's 
authority is a good one and she will solve the 
problem, if it can be done by mortal woman. 

At the Bodleian Dr. Mclvor showed us a 
number of manuscripts, among them the orig- 
inal of the Ruhdiydt of Omar Khayyam, the 
earliest known manuscript of Omar Khayyam, 
written A.D. 1460, and the one used by Edward 
Fitzgerald in his translation, or adaptation, 
or whatever you may call his presentation of 
that beautiful, haunting poem. We also saw an 
Abyssinian manuscript, with a story very much 
like the English St. George and the Dragon. 
It is illustrated and the patron saint of Eng- 
land looked rather odd with Ethiopian features. 
Most interesting of all, and most curious, was 

15 225 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

a fragment of a letter, in one of the cases, from 
a Greek boy to his father, dating back to 
the second or third century A.D., I really for- 
get which. As the letter was translated I give 
it to you: 

" Theon, to his father Theon greeting. It was a fine 
thing of you not to take me to Alexandria. * * * * 
Mother said to Archelaus, ' It quite upsets him to be left 
behind.^ Send me a lyre, I implore you. If you don't, I 
won't eat, I won't drink. There now! * * * " 

Is n't it human? — as if a boy's hand had been 
reached out from that far-off land and age to 
clasp ours! Dr. Mclvor had seen the letter 
before, but he was evidently much touched by 
it, and was pleased to see that we felt as he did. 
Miss Cassandra's eyes filled with tears. She 
is such a sympathetic, emotional dear; and 
Angela turned her head away suspiciously and 
said, that she hoped that poor boy did get his 
^^lyre." 

After our ^^ strenuous morning," as Angela 
calls it, we spent the afternoon punting on the 
Isis until five o'clock, when we drove down to 
take tea with Miss Cassandra's friend. The 
entire party was invited, including the children 
to their great joy, so we all donned our **best 
bibs and tuckers" and set forth. It seems that 
to be Miss Cassandra's friend is also to be 
'^Vami de ses amis," as we met with the warm- 

226 



STORIED WINDOWS 



est of welcomes and spent an hour with agree- 
able people upon a beautiful lawn. The hostess 
is an American, who lives at Oxford, and some 
English Friends were of the party, intelligent 
people whom it was a great pleasure to meet. 
I was impressed, as I have often been before, 
with the frankness of the English. Something 
was said about there being no women's college 
at Oxford, upon which our hostess reminded us 
that there are six halls for women here which 
we should see. 

I said that I had seen Nuneham and should 
like to see Girton. 

*^Thee would be disappointed in Girton," 
said one of the guests, ^4f thee is familiar with 
AYellesley and Bryn Mawr Colleges in Amer- 
ica. Girton does not compare with Wellesley 
in the beauty of its surroundings, and the 
buildings and grounds of Bryn Mawr are much 
finer. ' ' 

Now, was not that very frank! The speaker 
did not make this admission as if he had ex- 
pected to be contradicted and flattered, and he 
was evidently pleased when Miss Cassandra 
and our hostess agreed with him. We had an 
animated discussion, over our tea, about co- 
education and the higher education of women 
which was so like a talk upon the same subjects 

227 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

at home that we forgot for the moraent that 
we were not in the ^^ States." 

Our one day in Oxford with Miss Cassandra 
and Dr. Mclvor was a brilliant success, and 
we parted from them both with infinite regret. 

August 20th. 

Angela says, that there are quite too many 
out-of-door attractions here to waste our time 
upon chapels and halls. She is more than half 
right and we are not attempting to do sight- 
seeing in any systematic way, as we have been 
here so often and hope to come again ; and then, 
as Hawthorne has well said, ^4t is a despair to 
see such a place for it would take a lifetime 
and more than one to comprehend and enjoy 
it satisfactorily." This saying is really a com- 
fort to Walter and me, with Oxford's twenty- 
two colleges opening their doors to us, and 
we have compromised with Angela, beguiling 
her to some chapel or college in the morning, 
with the promise of spending the whole after- 
noon out of doors. Punting on the river is 
what she and the girls like best; but we some- 
times wander by the Cherwell near Christ 
Church meadows, or cross the bridge back of 
Magdalen and stroll through Addison's Walk, 
where the trees overarch and we look out upon 

228 



STORIED WINDOWS 



the river on one side and the deer park on the 
other. '' Pleasant meanders shadowed with 
trees/' as Anthony a Wood, an old historian 
of Oxford, called these *^ water walks,'* and 
^'as delectable as the banks of Erotas where 
Apollo himself was wont to walk and sing his 
lays." 

By one of the bridges over the Cherwell is 
a most picturesque old mill which has been 
modernized into a dwelling-honse, and here are 
some beautiful black swans. You may believe 
that this is a very favorite spot, which Chris- 
tine and Lisa insist upon visiting at least once 
every day. 

From all of this you will gather that we are 
leading a perfectly rational and sensible life, 
and when we meet parties of tourists dragging 
themselves from hall to hall and from quad to 
quad, asking the name of this college and that, 
and forgetting it the next minute, we naturally 
congratulate ourselves that we are not like 
unto other tourists, even like unto those of 
Thomas Cook. 

There are, of course, certain old friends in 
one college or another that we must always see 
again, as the wonderful reredos at All Souls', 
with its many carved figures, and the beautiful 
Sir Joshua window in the chapel of New Col- 

229 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

lege, with its Nativity, beneath which are the 
exquisite representations of the Christian vir- 
tues, the loveliest of them all being not Charity, 
but Hope, the perfect aspiring figure, whose 
feet barely touch the earth ; you surely remem- 
ber it. And then we seldom return from 
Christ's or Magdalen without stopping to see 
the Shelley memorial at University, that most 
exquisite youthful figure, which looks as if it 
had really been thrown upon a rock by the wild 
waves, beautiful as his own Adonais, and still 
like him, in death as in life, 

" a portion of the loveliness which once he made more 
lovely." 

We could stay on, from day to day and 
from week to week, finding each more inter- 
esting than the last, but Dr. Mclvor urged us 
not to keep Christine here long, reminding us 
of the old saying that *^ Oxford possesses 
everything except climate." The weather is 
fairly good, and not as hot as when you and I 
were here in July, but we find it rather ener- 
vating after the bracing north country air, 
besides which the calendar admonishes us that 
we shall soon ^*have to take to the road again," 
as Angela says, if we are to have a fortnight 
in Devonshire and Cornwall. 

230 



STORIED WINDOWS 



Angela writes 

August 22nd. 

Walter and Z. are off for the day, and as 
there may be no time for writing to-morrow 
I am finishing Z.'s letter. You must know, 
dear Margaret, that I am already practising 
the role of maiden aunt, and when I found that 
Z. was very anxious to look up a remote an- 
cestor by the name of Jones, who lived some- 
where within twenty miles of Oxford, I urged 
her to go with Walter and leave Christine and 
Lisa to my tender mercies. It seems to me 
something of a wild-goose chase as Joneses, 
like Smiths, are a trifle hard to locate, and this 
particular Jones family has long since dis- 
appeared from this part of the globe; but the 
house is said to be standing, and Z. hopes to 
get some of the furniture belonging to the 
family ; exactly how, I fail to see. Walter, who 
has a fine sense of humor, as you know, sug- 
gests a canvass of junk shops in a little town 
near Heldweal, the name of the county- seat. 
He is happy, of course, to go anywhere with 
Z. and the expedition has a flavor of adventure 
and the pursuit of something, no matter what, 
that always appeals to a man. This particular 
chase was suggested by a hatchment that we 

231 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

saw hanging in one of the quads, with the iden- 
tical arms used by Z.'s American Joneses. I 
suppose the arms are usually alike, as most of 
them came from England in the first place ; and 
to tell you the truth, Margaret dear, there are 
so many of them here, in all the chapels, over 
the tombs and in memorial windows, that I am 
well sick of them. Miss Cassandra, who is a 
perfect dear and no end of fun, quite agrees 
with me. She says that ^^in the inscriptions 
they generally begin quite piously with *To 
the Glory of God' and wind up with so much 
of the glorification of the man and his family 
that the Lord is quite lost sight of.*' 

As the M.D. left us yesterday, I do not need 
to be chaperoned and the children and I have 
had a day of perfect freedom together. Not a 
college or a chapel have we entered, not even 
a quad, except to go through the cloisters of 
Magdalen by the Founder's Tower to reach 
the old bridge, and the mill-pond where the 
black swans live. Such a lovely spot ! We took 
our books and work and spent the morning 
there, coming home a roundabout way by God- 
stow and Folly Bridge, where we engaged a 
boat for this afternoon. Of course we were 
punting on the Isis all the afternoon, which is 
quite the best thing to do here. 

232 



STORIED WINDOWS 



Having come in late for tea, I have sent 
Christine and Lisa to their room to read and 
rest their poor little legs while I write to you. 
We really walk much more than we realize in 
this curious place, where everything is too near 
to drive or take the tram, and so we go from 
quad to quad, and from one little winding 
street to another, and usually come out in 
some unexpected place. I must tell you now, 
while I think of it, that Z. has quite given over 
trying to cultivate my sentiment and all that, 
and is devoting all her energies to the children. 
This is really a great relief to me as I knew all 
the time that it was a hopeless task, and I 
doubt her having any better success with the 
girls. They are dears, sweet, perfectly all 
right, and ready to listen to everything that 
Z. tells them, but when she was anxious to 
impress them with the wonders of the world, 
at the Abbey and at the British Museum, and 
all the other places, I knew perfectly well that 
they would rather go to the Park to feed the 
swans or to Fuller's or Gunter's for afternoon 
tea, which they adore as they always pick out 
their own cakes. The M.D. suited Z. to a frac- 
tion, as he is simply chock full of sentiment, 
and spins off his impossible Scotch yarns by 
the yard. I know that I shocked him some- 

233 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

times, but it is a good thing to let these foreign- 
ers see things from another point of view, as 
they are so set in their own opinions. Walter 
likes him, but, all the same, he is glad to take 
down his national pride a peg or two, and he 
looked at me in high glee when a nice English- 
man, who had been in ^'the States,'^ compared 
Girton to Bryn Mawr College, to the great 
advantage of the latter. I mean the build- 
ings and grounds, of course, and how sur- 
prised the M.D. was! I suppose he thinks we 
have nothing worth looking at in America. He 
had better come over and see. 

Z. and Walter have just returned, bearing 
their spoils with them, in the shape of a tea- 
pot without a spout, which Z. thought had the 
Jones arms on one side; but upon closer 
examination and upon comparing it with her 
water-color sketch, she finds that the animal 
on the crest is of a quite different species. I 
tell her that it won't make any difference if she 
puts it on a high shelf, and if she turns the 
broken spout to the wall it will look like an 
ancient vase. She was quite indignant, at first ; 
said she didn't care for make-believes, but I 
think she will accept my suggestion as the tea- 
pot is very pretty and has a lovely gilt handle 
with colors on it to match those in the arms. 

234 



STORIED WINDOWS 



There is so much make-believe in all this arms- 
and-crest business in America that a little bit, 
more or less, makes no difference. By the way, 
the present owners of Heldweal were out for 
the afternoon, so Z. did not see the inside of 
the house, which was quite too bad; but her 
natural ardor is not abated, and she will prob- 
ably *'try, try again ^^ the next time she comes 
to Oxford. 

I laugh at Z. and tease her, but after all her 
belief in people and things, and her joyous 
outlook upon life, are to be envied. Walter 
and I love her all the more for her little incon- 
sequent ways; but we must get some fun out 
of them, or life would not be worth living. 

We had hoped to stay here until next week, 
but Christine seems to be losing color and 
strength, the M.D.'s last orders were not to 
keep her long in Oxford, so Z. decided quite 
suddenly this evening to ^^take to the road 
to-morrow.'' Our first plan was to go directly 
to Minehead or Lynton, but Walter has been 
talking to our host, who tells him that we will 
have to stage part of the journey, as the rail- 
road does not run all the way to these places, 
and as we have a lot of luggage this compli- 
cates the situation. After looking over maps 
and routes, we have pretty well made up our 

235 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

minds to go to Ilfracombe for Sunday, and 
coach from there to Lynton. In this way we 
shall have several hours at Bath, and when Z. 
suddenly realized how near Glastonbury is to 
Bath, her eyes danced in a way that you and 
I know of old. ^^Glastonbury," she exclaimed, 
^^how I should love to see it!'' It is the very 
starting place of religion in England. 

*^ There is no reason, dear, why we should 
not go to Glastonbury for a day," said Walter. 

**And every reason why you should," said 
I. *^But there is no use in dragging Christine 
and Lisa there. They are not old enough to 
care for the beginnings of religion or of 
anything else except the beginning of a 
good time." Then I had a brilliant maiden- 
aunt idea, which is to have Z. and Wal- 
ter leave us at Bath and make their trip 
to Glastonbury, while I take the children 
to Ilfracombe, where they can meet us 
Saturday night or Sunday. They demurred 
at first but I think they will yield to my per- 
suasions and I shall come off with flying colors, 
as a first-class caretaker, while the two Honey- 
mooners go off on a journey into antiquity. 

It seems absurd to be changing all our plans 
on account of luggage, which is such a bother 
over here; and how tragic it is to see our 

236 



STORIED WINDOWS 



trunks, with all our worldly goods in them, 
started of£ on a van, with nothing on earth to 
show for them but two inches of paper with 
something scrawled on it that you can never 
quite make out! I generally lose mine, but 
although the *^ boxes" are often mislaid for a 
day, as mine were on the way to York, they 
generally **bob up serenely" sometime and 
somewhere. It never seems quite possible to 
lose them. 

A propos of trunks I must tell you about a 
pet bit of hand luggage that Z. insists upon 
carrying about with her. The only one of the 
really smart gowns belonging to her trousseau 
that she has with her is a perfect dream, in 
mauve cloth and chiffon, which she carries 
about with her in a big box, and for some rea- 
son, best known to herself, she will not let any 
one else touch the ark, as Walter and I call it. 
After wearing this costume in London for the 
first time at a garden party, and afterwards 
at a musical tea, we thought that Z. would be 
willing to put it in her trunk, but instead she 
appeared carrying the ark when we left Lon- 
don for Oxford. Just how it was overlooked I 
don't know, but after we were all comfortably 
settled in the boat at Wallingford, Z. exclaimed, 
^^ My box! What shall I do?" Of course Wal- 

237 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

ter begged or bribed the captain to wait until 
he ran back to The Lamb where we had 
lunched. When he appeared, a few minutes 
later hot and out of breath with the precious 
ark in his arms, I thought that like most men 
he would indulge in some sarcastic or disagree- 
able remarks, and had begun to look forward 
to the excitement of a lovers' quarrel, instead 
of which Walter placed the box alongside of 
Z., saying, *^ After this, dear, I shall have to 
take charge of the ark myself, as I was really 
afraid that I should never again have the pleas- 
ure of seeing you in that charming costume." 
If any one else had said that it would have been 
heaping coals of fire on poor Z.'s head, but 
with Walter's pleasant manner the words had 
no sting back of them. Isn't he a lamb? I 
suppose you will tell me that Allan is just such 
another; but I can assure you that the M.D. 
was a bit surprised. He looked several inter- 
rogation points at me, and when he had an 
opportunity he asked me whether ' * all American 
husbands were as amiable as Mr. Leonard?" 
I said yes, of course, with a few exceptions 
just to prove the rule, for which slight inac- 
curacy I hope I may be forgiven ! 

Z. had her innings when we went to take tea 
with Miss Cassandra, as she looked ** perfectly 

238 



STORIED WINDOWS 



ripping," as the English girls say, in her res- 
cued gown. The children danced about her in 
delight, and Walter was so frankly proud of her 
appearance that I told him it was not quite 
comme il faut for a man to admire his own 
wife so much. My simple little Paris con- 
fection in greens and browns was quite thrown 
into the shade, although Z., who being on top, 
could afford to be generous, assured me that 
my costume was charming and very becoming. 
Miss Cassandra, who met us on the steps, 
held Z. at arm's length and turned her around, 
for all the world as if she had been a Dresden 
china shepherdess, exclaiming, ^^Thee should 
always wear that shade, my beauty bright, thee 
is so perfectly lovely in it !'' Now was not that 
refreshingly worldly? I really think that it is 
this dear Quaker lady's innocent worldliness 
that makes her so irresistible. 



X 

GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



The George, 
Glastonbury, August 23rd. 

You will be wondering, dearest Margaret, 
how we happen to be in this old town; but 
perhaps Angela told you in her letter that she 
offered to take the children on to Ilfracombe, so 
I shall waste no time in making explanations, 
as I must give you the impressions of this per- 
fectly thrilling day, while everything is fresh 
in my mind. 

We came by way of Bath, a pleasant journey 
of about two hours from Oxford, through a 
level but not unattractive country, which re- 
minded us of Holland, by reason of its flatness 
and many small streams, some of them like 
canals or dykes. 

There being a stop over of several hours 
in Bath, for all of us, we had time to go through 
the Eoman baths, above ground and beneath. 
You and Allan are doubtless seeing the great 
baths in Rome, but even so, you could not fail 

240 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



to be interested in this early Roman trans- 
planting at Bath. The subterranean bathrooms 
are supplied with water by huge pipes and 
heated with blocks of hot iron, or by having a 
fire underneath the metal floor. The very com- 
fortable arrangements in the many private 
bathrooms made us realize, once more, what 
luxuries the Romans brought into Britain, — 
such luxury as only the privileged few enjoy 
to-day, while among the Romans there were 
baths for all classes. Above the great swim- 
ming-pool, there is what they call a Roman 
terrace, or open gallery, which is adorned with 
colossal statues of Caesar, Hadrian, Suetonius, 
and many of ^^the great of old." Along the 
sides of this pool, and in many other places, 
are piled up bits of fine carving, broken 
columns and beautiful capitals which have been 
excavated within the last twenty years. Wal- 
ter was quite in his element among these 
Roman antiquities, and has been wishing for 
Dr. Mclvor to explain some things to him. 
AVhen we passed into the Pump Room British 
associations overpowered the Roman, and An- 
gela and I wished for you in this place, where 
so many of our old friends in literature were 
wont to congregate. They tell us that this 
assembly-room is very little changed since the 

16 241 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

days when Sir Joshua Eeynolds, Dr. Johnson, 
Bo swell, Horace Walpole, and all the great 
writers and talkers used to come here to drink 
from the queer little fountain and to gossip 
endlessly, as people were wont to do in those 
good old days, before railroads, telephones, 
and automobiles had quickened the pace of life 
from the gentle amble of Miss Austen's novels 
to the breakneck speed of our own time. 

Miss Burney came here with Queen Char- 
lotte, who held her court at Bath, and here 
again the authoress of Evelina came as Madame 
D'Arblay with a number of French emigres. 

Except for the Eoman remains, and the 
Cathedral, this old city is interesting only from 
its associations, as it is little frequented to-day. 
A few persons were drinking the mineral water, 
which flows from a fountain presided over by 
the figure of an angel supposed to be made in 
the likeness of the one who stirred the waters 
of Bethesda. The water is served hot in glasses 
set in odd little basins. We amused ourselves 
seeing the other people make wry faces over 
their nauseous hot drink, and were not tempted 
to try it ourselves. 

The Cathedral, which is quite handsome, has 
a richly-carved west front, with ladders upon 
which a number of armless, legless, and some- 

242 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



times wingless, stone angels are climbing. 
*^Just like the angels in Jacob's Dream," 
Christine says, and as it happens this remark- 
able decoration was suggested by the dream of 
Bishop Oliver King, who rebuilt the Cathedral. 
The effect of these poor, maimed little angels, 
climbing up and down continually, is odd, and 
almost painful, as one feels sorry for their 
poor little tired legs. These angels really seem 
to have been furnished with legs at the begin- 
ning, but, like most of the carving of the Cathe- 
dral, much of the west front is broken and 
worn, either from the softness of the stone 
or the extreme dampness of the climate. 

Inside the Cathedral we found a number of 
interesting monuments, and inscriptions, among 
the latter one to Lady Waller, wife of the Par- 
liamentary General Waller, which is so odd, 
with its enigmatical play upon words, that 
Walter has copied it for you: 

" To the Deare Memory of the right virtuous and worthy 
Lady Jane, Lady Waller. 

In graces great in stature small, 
As full of spirit as void of gall, 
Cheerfully grave bounteously close 
Happy and yet from envy free 
Learned without pride, witty yet wise, 
Reader this riddle read for me 
Here the good Lady Waller lyes," 
243 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

At the booking office in Bath "Walter made 
inquiries about trains for our different routes, 
and found that we had been quite misinformed, 
as trains do run directly to Lynton. We have 
added another don't to our already quite long 
list. Don't trust your landlord *^ however 
pleasant" but go to fountain head, the booking- 
office or the Bradshaw. And even then *^ don't 
be any too sure," Walter adds. However, we 
are not disposed to quarrel with our host of the 
Grilling, as by changing our plans we have 
gained the inexpressible pleasure of a long 
afternoon in Glastonbury. 

Not knowing anything about accommoda- 
tions in this old town, we expected to go to 
Wells for the night, and spend Saturday in 
Glastonbury. But as luck would have it, we 
fell into conversation with an English lady en 
route, who told us of this George Inn, which 
she recommended highly. We are now doing 
the thing of all others which we longed to do, 
spending the night here and having a long 
afternoon and evening among the wonderful 
associations of this place, which is the only way 
to enjoy them. Could anything be more ap- 
propriate than to be stopping here at a pil- 
grims' innf The George, which dates back 
to 1456, is on High Street near the Market 

244 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



Cross and not far from the Abbey. Over the 
handsome carved gateway are the arms of 
Edward IV and those of the great Abbey of 
St. Peter and St. Paul. The house is full of 
quaint nooks and corners, and in the cellar and 
dungeons beneath are more weird and grew- 
some relics of the old monastic life than we 
care to see. 

After the train left Shepton Mallet we had 
our first glimpse of the great tor, across green 
lowlands dotted with elms and beeches, where 
many sheep were grazing. A sudden curve in 
the road revealed the rounded Tor Hill, which 
rises so unexpectedly from the dead level of 
the plain that its appearance is almost start- 
ling. In its evenness and symmetry it suggests 
a fortress built by the primitive man for the 
protection of this fair valley, but upon a closer 
view we found that only the gray tower that 
crowns the tor is man-made. The hill itself 
is like a number of others in this neighborhood 
which rise abruptly from the level, as if thrown 
up by the action of subterranean forces, which, 
as Walter reminds me, is the usual method of 
making a hill. But there really is something 
about these tors quite different from ordinary 
hills. Walter calls them *' bumps on the flat 
surface of the plain," which is not a bad de- 

245 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

scription as they are so smooth and round, and 
as he says, ^^are quite unexpected, in which 
they also resemble bumps.'' 

Winding around and around, beside green 
meadows and silver streams, the train came 
suddenly into a little station which stands quite 
high and commands a view of the town of 
Glastonbury lying at the foot of the tower- 
crowned tor. 

This lovely valley, once an island and called 
*Hhe mystic Isle of Avalon" from aval, Welsh 
for the apple which grew here spontaneously, 
is Tennyson's 

" Island valley of Avilion, 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
Nor ever wind blows loudly, but it lies, 
Deep meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns. 
And boweiy hollows, crowned with summer sea." 

Our great tor is called Tor Chalice, because 
here, according to many authorities, was 
buried the Holy Grail, which ^^Arimathean 
Joseph brought to Glastonbury," or as some 
of the old books call him, *^ Joseph of 
Abarimacie. ' ' 

On another tor not far away, called Weary- 
All Hill, was planted the winter thorn which 
blossoms at Christmas time. The main stalk 
of this tree was cut down by a Puritan fanatic ; 

246 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



but a number of offslioots are to be found in 
different parts of the town, which they tell us 
still 

" blossom at Christmas, mindful of our Lord." 

The history of Glastonbury is so wound 
round and about with threads of religion, ro- 
mance, and tradition, and reaches back to such 
remote antiquity, that it is more difficult than 
in most places to know what to believe and 
what to reject. Indeed, I confess that I am 
rapidly reaching our Assisian point of view, 
and unless Walter holds me back by his saving 
common sense I shall end by believing every- 
thing that is told me. 

We found a little book at one of the shops 
which gives some links in a chain of evidence 
that seemed, at a first glance, purely mythical. 
The legend is that Joseph of Arimathea set 
forth from Palestine for Britain directly after 
the crucifixion of his Lord, bearing with him the 
sacred chalice. The journey of the holy pil- 
grims, for Joseph was attended by his son and 
some missionaries, twelve in all, has been 
traced step by step, and was by a route used be- 
fore the time of Joseph. By sea the pilgrims 
journeyed to Marseilles, thence to the ancient 
city of Aries, across Gaul, in thirty days, and 

247 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

from Brittany across the Channel, in four days, 
to Cornwall, the ancient Lyonesse. It all 
seems quite reasonable, as the tin mines of 
Cornwall brought traders here from all parts 
of the known world. The story runs that 
Joseph of Arimathea brought some material 
and practical benefit to the Cornwall miners, 
as he taught them how *^to extract the tin and 
purge it of its wolfram." Mr. Baring-Gould, 
in writing about Cornwall, speaks of a curious 
custom that has come down to later times. He 
says that *^when the tin is flashed the tinner 
shouts, * Joseph was in the tin trade!'" I 
give you the tale as it has come to us. We both 
thought of you and Allan, and wished for you, 
when we paid our material English sixpences 
at the little wicket entrance gate, and stood in 
the Abbey grounds surrounded by the vast 
ruins and the eloquent silences of centuries. 
There are ruins and ruins. You and I have 
seen many in Italy and in this England. The 
lovely ruins of the Priory of St. Augustine at 
Canterbury awed me by their beauty and an- 
tiquity, but here are the remains of a church 
whose foundations antedate the coming of 
Christianity to Kent, by several centuries. 
"Whether or not we believe that St. Joseph built 
his church of wattles in the first century, St. 

248 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



Patrick came to Glastonbury about the middle 
of the fifth and became its first abbot. No 
less authority than Professor Freeman wrote 
of this Abbey: '^The ancient church of wood 
or wicker, which legend spoke of as the first 
temple reared on British soil to the honor of 
Christ, was preserved as a hallowed relic, even 
after a greater church of stone was built by 
Dunstan to the east of it. Nowhere else, among 
all the churches of England, can we find one 
that can trace up its uninterrupted being to 
days before the Teuton had set foot upon 
English soil. The legendary burial place of 
Arthur, the real burying place of Edgar and 
the two Edmunds, stands alone among English 
minsters as the one link which really does bind 
us to the ancient church of the Briton and the 
Roman.'' 

We walked around and through the beautiful 
ruin, with its nave almost as long as that of 
Winchester Cathedral, its transeptal chapels, 
its lofty arches partly Norman and partly 
Gothic, and altogether noble and inspiring, and 
its beautiful Lady-Chapel, which we left to the 
last, as the most perfect of all. This Lady- 
Chapel, which is also called the Chapel of St. 
Joseph, is built over the original church of 
wattles, the '* vetusta ecclesia," and is rich 

249 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

in carvings of saints, angels and armed knights, 
with flowers and leaves and birds and beasts 
interwoven between the figures. On the north 
door is the story of the Three Kings, the 
Massacre of the Innocents, and ever so many 
other Scripture scenes, all exquisitely carved 
in the stone. Over some of the arches there 
is Norman toothing, and over others graceful 
arabesque designs. It is so beautiful even in 
its ruinous state, that I can find no words in 
which to describe this Chapel, which Professor 
Freeman calls the '* loveliest building that 
Glastonbury can show, the jewel of the Late 
Eomanesque on a small scale." 

We have not met one American tourist here 
and only a few English people. It is strange 
that so few travellers find their way to Glaston- 
bury, when it is a place of so much beauty and 
interest, for, aside from its associations with 
the beginnings of Christianity in Great Britain, 
here it was, according to many an ancient tale, 
that King Arthur was buried. In *'The High 
History of the Holy Grail" it is related that 
Lancelot came to this '^ rich, fair chapel," and 
asked whose were the *'two coffins covered with 
polls," and that one of the hermits told him 
that Queen Guinevere lay in one, and the one 
beside her was for King Arthur as *^the Queen 

250 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



bade at her death that his body should be set 
beside her own when he shall end. Hereof 
have we the letters and her seal in this chapel, 
and this place made she be builded new on this 
wise or ever she died." 

The Abbot's Kitchen, an eight-sided building, 
most interesting in its architecture, with sub- 
stantial buttresses and a double turret or a 
lantern on top, lies south of the Abbey. This 
kitchen, which is in perfect preservation, was 
beside the great refectory where a generous 
hospitality was exercised by the Glastonbury 
brothers. 

After leaving the Abbey, we made our way 
through many streets to the foot of the great 
tor, whither we were conducted by a pretty lit- 
tle girl about Lisa's age, who took great 
pleasure in showing us the way through a 
hedge-bordered lane and a little gate. From 
Tor Chalice or Tor Hill there is a fine view of 
the Bristol channel, the Mendip Hills and Wells 
Cathedral, only five miles away, which we ex- 
pect to see to-morrow. In the gray tower, on 
top of the hill, which is really a pilgrims' 
chapel, the last Abbot of Glastonbury, Richard 
Whiting, was dragged on a hurdle and hanged, 
because, as Walter expresses it, ^'he could not 
make his churchmanship and morals square 

251 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

with those of his royal master." It was this 
same royal master, Henry VIII, who despoiled 
the Abbey of its treasures and destroyed so 
much of its beauty. Our little guide, who was 
most friendly, waited for us, followed us down 
the steep hill-side, and even after we had given 
her some pennies refused to desert us until 
she had started us upon the shortest route to 
the George. Part of our way lay by a hill-side 
street, after which we turned into what is evi- 
dently the Petticoat Lane of Glastonbury. A 
very poor little street it is, with wretched- 
looking people about the door-ways; and yet 
here, as everywhere in rural England, many 
flowers, gorgeous fuchsias and geraniums, were 
blooming in the small front yards, and through 
the open doors of the miserable houses we 
could see tidy little kitchen gardens beyond. 

At the corner of Beere Lane and Chilkwell 
Street we passed the Abbey barn, which is of 
great size, cruciform, with symbolic carvings 
over the windows and doors. Over the great 
entrance is the winged ox of Saint Mark, which 
seems a particularly appropriate decoration 
for a barn. 

At the George they very considerately serve 
dinner at a late hour, and after what seemed 
like a whole evening on the tor, and along Chilk- 

252 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



well Street, we still had time to make some 
changes in our costume before going in to din- 
ner. From an afternoon spent entirely in the 
past, filled with associations of St. Joseph and 
the good brothers of the Abbey, the transition 
to a well-lighted dining-room, and a flower- 
bedecked table with handsome modern appoint- 
ments, was something of a surprise to us. As 
if to accentuate the modern note in this ancient 
hostelry, we were told that it had been restored 
and modernized, in consequence of the many 
auto-tourists who come this way from Torquay, 
Penzance, and other points upon the coast. We 
were quite hungry enough, after our long walk, 
to enjoy the excellent dinner that was served 
us. At the table were several parties of Eng- 
lish people, among them a handsome dark-eyed 
bride who seemed as eager to know all about 
Glastonbury as we were. Walter had the 
pleasure of sitting next to this lady, whose 
name we do not know and may never know, 
but she and her husband will always stand for 
us as types of the very best English people, of 
the sort that one is more likely to meet on the 
continent that at home. They were intelligent, 
courteous, and ^^ perfectly all right," as Walter 
says, *^like the very best sort of Americans!" 
I fancy that the best sort are much alike the 
world over. 

253 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Opposite to us were '^Dr. and Mrs. Proudie'' 
in the flesh, the lady in quite a considerable 
amount of it, the gentleman smaller and much 
milder in appearance that Trollope's bishop, 
but, like him, somewhat obscured by his wife's 
robust and commanding personality. The ar- 
rangement of Mrs. Proudie's hair was of an 
ingenuity and hideousness that made me long 
to have Angela at hand to make a sketch of it 
for you. A flat band of the back hair, which is 
iron gray, was brought forward to do duty 
above the massive domelike brow of the lady, 
making a severe frame for a face of uncompro- 
mising stolidity. What happened in the back 
did not transpire, as a friendly cap covered 
all deficiencies. 

After Mrs. Proudie had left the table the 
bride, with whom we had already exchanged 
some civilities, remarked in the tone in which 
some people repeat the litany, ^^If ever I lose 
my front hair, I trust that I shall never be 
tempted to do that ! ' ' 

^*Do what?'' asked Walter. '' ^Rob Peter to 
pay PauPf" 

This simile so amused the young couple, that 
we were soon chatting away together quite 
merrily. When I heard the English gentleman 
telling Walter that an ancient lake village had 

g54 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



been discovered near Glastonbury, within a few 
years, and that a number of interesting articles 
that had been excavated were to be found in a 
museum around the corner, I began to tremble 
for my chance of seeing Wells Cathedral 
to-morrow. 

^'We shall have to make an early start,'' I 
said, ^4n order to see the museum before we 
take the train for Wells.'' 

*^The museum does not open until ten 
o'clock," said the bride, as if that quite settled 
the matter. 

^^We shall have to ask them to open it an 
hour earlier," said Walter, at which the bride 
and groom looked at us in surprise, as if we 
belonged to a different species, or had proposed 
to make some change in the Prayer Book. 
These dear, good English people seem to think 
that things must continue as they are, because 
they have lasted so long according to an estab- 
lished order. 

We afterward met ^'Dr. and Mrs. Proudie" 
in the drawing-room. The latter proved to be 
an amiable giantess, must addicted to knitting. 
By some curious anachronism, this ancient 
couple had come to Glastonbury in an automo- 
bile, in which modern vehicle they are exploring 
many resorts on the Devonshire coast. **Dr. 

250 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Proudie'' gave us valuable information with 
regard to Minehead, Tintagel, and other places, 
and quite won Walter's affections by telling 
him of Roman and British camps near Lynton 
and Brendon. 

Taunton, August 24th. 

I am writing you a line, while we wait for 
our train at this place, which does not appear 
to be particularly interesting although it has 
an eighth-century castle, and its Archaeological 
Museum, which Walter is now exploring, may 
contain treasure untold. 

A propos of museums you may be interested 
to know that we accomplished our purpose this 
morning. Walter inquired the way to the jani- 
tor's house, and found him ready and willing 
to open his museum for us at any time that 
suited us. I was sitting on the museum steps 
waiting for him, when the bride and groom 
appeared. They looked amused, of course, and 
decidedly incredulous; but ^^he laughs best who 
laughs last," and my turn came when Walter, 
and the janitor with the keys, emerged from 
the arch of the Red Lion Inn near by. 

There are quite a number of interesting ar- 
ticles in this collection, some implements of 
husbandry, and hammers and saws, but I was 
most interested in some finely decorated pot- 

25G 



GLASTONBURY'S SHRINE 



tery, which looked as if it might have come 
from Egypt or Assyria, and in a handsome 
bronze bowl, with a reponsse design upon the 
sides. 

We enjoyed onr short journey to Wells with 
our new acquaintances and went through the 
Cathedral with them. They will, I am sure, 
always speak of us as those enterprising 
Americans. 

Here comes Walter to warn me that our train 
starts in fifteen minutes, which gives me no time 
to tell you of the beauty of Wells Cathedral, 
which is one of the most interesting archi- 
tecturally that we have seen, with its richly- 
decorated west front and its Chapter House 
connected by a curious gallery or bridge with 
the Vicar's close. The close itself is a lovely 
spot, where there are charming little cottages 
in which the students of the Theological Col- 
lege live in term time. We have picked out one 
which we will occupy when we come here to 
spend ^^a week away from time." Wells is a 
place where one should live, in order to appre- 
ciate all the beauty of detail in the Cathedral, 
where the clustered columns, carvings, gar- 
goyles and fan vaultings are exquisite. The 
surroundings, too, are most alluring, for here 
is a lovely garden with an embattled wall and 

17 257 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

an ancient moat. We have seen so many dried- 
up moats, bridged over and **oi¥ duty," as 
Walter says, that it is a satisfaction to see one 
with water in it. Upon this moat, under the 
shadow of the castle wall, swans are floating 
which are so intelligent that they pull a bell- 
rope when they want their dinner. This bell- 
rope, which connects in some way with the 
kitchen, the swans were pulling when we walked 
by the moat. 

I am mailing this letter here, and will write 
you again from Ufracombe. We heard from 
Archie, before we left Oxford. He tells us he 
has extended his vacation, in order to have a 
week in Vienna with some M.D. 's, and now holds 
out a prospect of meeting us in Paris in 
September. 



XI 
THE LAND OF LORN A DOONE" 



Ilfracombe, Sunday, August 25th. 

It was quite late when we reached Ilfracombe 
last night and after driving up a long steep hill 
to a hotel on the cliffs, to which we had wired 
for rooms, we found a note from Angela saying 
there were no accommodations to be had in this 
most desirable place. With much reluctance 
we left this pleasantly-situated inn with its 
queer name, the Cliff Hydro, and drove down 
into the town to an address that Angela had 
left for us. Here our three graces were 
anxiously awaiting us, the girls full of their 
doings with Angela, driving, walking, and hav- 
ing tea at a little cottage upon the rocks, after- 
noon tea being an important part of the day's 
amusements. 

This place is all up and down hill, the streets 
being as steep as those at Glastonbury. You 
would have been amused if you had seen us 
going to church this morning, winding round 
and round the hill- side paths to a quite large 

259 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

church on the tip top, which was so full that it 
was with difficulty that we found seats. These 
good church-goers are most of them hard- 
working people, clerks, and small shopkeepers, 
who have come here for their summer vacation 
as Ilfracombe abounds in cheap boarding- 
houses. At the Casino and its garden, last 
night, we were reminded of Atlantic City and 
Asbury Park, so great was the crowd of pleas- 
ure-seekers and so varied the amusements 
offered them. 

Ilfracombe has much natural beauty, like all 
of the resorts on the Devonshire coast, with 
its bold headlands reaching out into the sea and 
its picturesque Tors Walk, which is the fashion- 
able promenade of the town. They seem to call 
all their hills ^^tors" here, but none of them 
is equal to our Tor Chalice at Glastonbury, 
to which my thoughts turn back with real 
affection, as to something that I have known 
and loved for years. 

We are glad to see this place, as we have 
heard so much of it, and for another and less 
flattering reason, which is that we may in future 
avoid it in this crowded holiday season. 

After our mid-day dinner, we held a council 
of war with regard to our next move, as Angela 
is out of sorts with this place, and we are none 

260 



"THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 

of us particularly charmed with it, especially 
as the people in the hotel seem to have an 
objection to Americans, and treat us, as she 
says, like ^^ Jews, infidels and heretics/' *^Why 
try another Devonshire sea-side place?" she 
asks. *'They will all be crowded like Ilfra- 
combe. ' ' 

This is not at all like Angela, as you know 
that she is usually eager to see new places, and 
thinks each one more delightful than the last. 
What has come over her? She is so variable, 
in the gayest mood one moment and quite dull 
and spiritless the next. When I said something 
to Walter about this, and wondered whether 
Angela was missing Ludovico, who she tells me 
went with the Haldanes all the way to Carls- 
bad, and stopped there for a week, he laughed 
and said, *^How about the long-legged Scotch- 
man? He is the suitor who would have my 
sympathy, if I happened to be, like you, in the 
match-making line.'' 

*^Dr. Mclvor!" I exclaimed. '*0f course he 
admires Angela, but he would never do for 
her." 

^^Why not, Zelphine?" 

'*0h, because he is so plain looking with his 
sandy hair and his school-boy ways." 

'^lan Mclvor may not be an Adonis; but he 

261 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

is a manly fellow with plenty of brains, and 
are only the handsome and well favored to be 
beloved, oh my ZelphineT' 

Walter asked this absurd question with such 
a comical expression in his handsome eyes, that 
I could not help laughing, and so had to forgive 
him for calling me a match-maker. My reason 
was rather an absurd one I admit, but I fancy 
that I am spoiled, having so many good-looking 
men in my own family — and then no one, even 
Ludovico himself, seems quite good enough for 
Angela. 

To return to our discussion, Angela says, 
**Why not go directly to Cornwall and see 
Tintagel and some of the places down there?" 
Much as I wish to see Lynton I was almost 
ready to yield to Angela's suggestion, as it has 
been raining since luncheon and you know that 
nothing so completely takes the life and spirit 
out of me as dull rainy weather, but fortunately 
Walter came to my rescue. Although I know 
that his own inclinations draw him strongly 
toward Tintagel and King Arthur's castle, of 
which Dr. Mclvor has told him so much, he says 
that the weather will probably be more stormy 
in Cornwall and that Lynton is the place of all 
others that we should see. So to Lynton we 
go to-morrow. 

262 



THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 



Monday, August 26th. 

I am finishiiig my letter, dear Margaret, 
while we are waiting for luncheon. Our lug- 
gage is already in the hall, as we take an early 
afternoon train for Lynton. 

This morning Walter had a note from Dr. 
Mclvor, asking him to wire him at once, as he 
wishes to join us at our next stopping place. 
As it has been raining all morning, we have 
spent our time in small shops looking over post- 
cards, which the children delight in, of course. 
Angela is interested in everything and is quite 
her old self to-day. She has changed her mind 
and is very anxious to go to Lynton. 

August 27th. 

The ideal route from Ilfracombe to Lynton is 
by coach through Watermouth, Combe Martin, 
whose ancient battlemented church, with its 
beautiful perpendicular tower, is well worth a 
visit, by Trentishoe and Hunter's Inn, which is 
only one mile from the sea, and on, skirting the 
sea all the way, by Wooda Bay and Lee Abbey 
to the Valley of Rocks, which is a short walk 
from the principal hotels of Lynton. 

As the rain was pouring in torrents when we 
left Ilfracombe, and not being, like the English, 

263 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

addicted to coacliing in ^^soft weather," we 
journeyed by rail via Barnstaple, where we, of 
course, changed cars, as through trains do not 
prevail in this part of England. By the time 
we reached Barnstaple, or Barum as they call 
it here, the sun was shining gloriously, lighting 
up the Taw until its broad expanse of tide water 
shone like a silver lake. The journey of nine- 
teen miles or more, from Barnstaple Junction 
to Lynton, was made slowly over a narrow- 
gauge railway, which gave us time to enjoy the 
beauty of sea and shore. On both sides of the 
road the moors reach off into space, with charm- 
ing bits of woodland nestling down in the val- 
leys, and hedges, hedges everywhere and never 
a fence to be seen. 

After passing Blackmoor and crossing the 
Heddon, a sudden ascent brought the sea in full 
view at Wooda Bay, while to the right there 
stretched before us, like another sea, the seem- 
ingly boundless expanse of Exmoor, mysterious 
with the mystery of the moors. Why the moors 
are mysterious and awesome I know not ; but we 
all felt it; even Angela, who could laugh and 
chatter merrily among the most thrilling asso- 
ciations of Eome, was awed into silence by the 
vast reaches of Exmoor over which the evening 
shadows were gathering. Nor was it because 

264 



"THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 

we were thinking of the Doones who had once 
made this region so terrible, as we failed to 
associate Barnstaple and Lynton with the fa- 
mous outlaw band until some people in the rail- 
way coach began to talk about their outrages 
in this neighborhood, with all the realism and 
detail in which country people seem to delight. 
One of the party, a stout woman with a kindly 
face, dwelt with harrowing minuteness upon the 
carrying off of fair Margery Babcock from 
her husband's farm at Martinhoe near by, and 
the cruel murder of her baby. 

'^I Ve heard my gran'fayther tell on it 
many's the time,'' said the narrator, pausing 
for breath. '' The Doones, devils I call 'em, 
being in a great taking 'cause they found but 
poor victuals in the larder, began to play loriot 
with the poor babe. The serving maid, lying 
hid under a fagot of wood in the bake-oven, 
heard them sing in their rage, as they tossed 
the child before the fire : 

If any man asketh who killed thee, 
Say ^twas the Doones of Badgeworthy. 

The last word the good dame pronounced 
'^Badgery," thus making even the lines of the 
cruel couplet. 

'* And the poor wench (my gran'fayther knew 

265 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

her gran 'son) was lying there afraid to breathe 
for fear she might let out a hiccough, she be- 
ing subject to them, and they find her and carry 
her off after her mistress that was carried away 
by Carver Doone himself. Folks around here 
blamed Honor Jose, that was her name, but 
my gran'fayther would hear naught of blame 
for the poor wench. He always stuck to it and 
said she could never have saved the baby, and 
life 's life, and honor 's honor, that being her 
name, too, and both would have gone down be- 
fore those bold, bad men. But the miseries of 
Kit Babcock, who was clean dazed with sorrow 
for his sweet Mistress Margery, and the babe, 
as much a martyr as the babes we have church 
service for on a Holy Innocents' Day, roused 
up the whole countryside. No man hereabouts 
rested until they had scotched the vipers in 
their own nest and set it afire, and drove them 
out to meet our men in the open. Jan Snell, 
Honor's young man, was foremost in the posse, 
and the story is that he had the satisfaction of 
laying low one of the very men that came to Kit 
Babcock's cottage. Honor would never hear a 
word of marryin' till he came back and told 
her that. Ofttimes, when her own baby was 
lyin' on her breast, she must have thought of 
that poor murdered babe. They say she heard 

266 



''THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE'* 

its cries in her sleep, at night, till her own baby 
came to comfort her.'' 

The farmer's wife had fortunately reached 
the end of her tale by the time our train drew 
up at the terminus, otherwise we could never 
have left her. As it was, the girls followed 
her, helped her with her parcels and did not 
quit her side until they saw her safely tucked 
into the rude little cart in which her spouse had 
come to meet her. 

Wlien the good dame drove off, looking like 
a motherly Kris Kringle, her face bubbling over 
with fatness and good nature, as she sat smil- 
ing at us above her hundred and one boxes and 
parcels, we made our way to the char a bancs 
that were waiting to take passengers to Lynton. 

As the station stands very high, the road to 
Lynton is chiefly down hill. At the foot of one 
of the longest of these Devonshire hills, we 
came upon the lovely little town of Lynmouth. 
Its one street follows the windings of the East 
and West Lyns, which here unite their waters 
and run swiftly to the sea over a rocky bed and 
between well wooded shores, 'Hhe rivers and 
the sea," as Southey says, making **but one 
sound of uproar." 

Although Lynton stands four hundred feet 
above Lynmouth, it is not easy to say where 

267 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

one town ends and the other begins, as the 
Lynmouth houses climb up the hill above the 
valley, and those of Lynton reach down the 
steep clitf to meet them. Yet each place has 
its own individual charm. If Lynmouth is 
quaint and picturesque, with its thatched cot- 
tages embowered in vines, its old stone walls 
and small pier upon which an ancient tower 
stands, as if to guard the peaceful harbor, Lyn- 
ton has a beauty of its own in rugged cliffs and 
bold headlands reaching out into the sea. 

After establishing ourselves in our rooms, 
there was barely time before dinner to visit 
the Valley of Rocks, which is overshadowed 
by the huge uplifted crag of Castle Rock with 
the Devil's Cheese-ring standing close beside it. 
Southey, in describing this wonderful gap in 
the hillside, which seems to have been cleft 
asunder by giant forces, speaks of these great 
boulders and bare ridges of rock as ^'the very 
bones and skeleton of the earth, '* and of the 
vast pile of Castle Rock as worthy to have been 
a palace of the pre- Adamite kings or a city of 
the Anakim, in its shapeless grandeur. 

The Valley of Rocks, called by the Exmoor 
folk the * ^Danes'' or the '^ Denes," which is one 
of their words for a hollow place like a den, was 
the winter home of ' ^ Mother Melldrum, the wise 

268 



"THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 

woman of Simonsbath, ' ' whom John Eidd vis- 
ited in her lair, and questioned about his next 
meeting with Lorna Doone. Under the shadow 
of the great rock, in the darkening evening 
light, it was not difficult to picture the weird 
scene described by Blackmore. The wrinkled 
old face, with its bright, shining eyes, the up- 
lifted hand, pointing to the narrow shelf of 
rock, where a poor fat sheep was overcome by 
a wolfish black goat, the resounding voice cry- 
ing, ^'Have naught to do with any Doone, John 
Eidd; mark the end of it!" The end of it 
being that the poor sheep was thrown from the 
crag into the sea before John Eidd could reach 
it, while he, frightened as he was by the scene, 
the hour and the dismal prophecy of the *^ fear- 
ful woman," still plucked up heart of grace to 
believe that he might in the end win his Lorna. 

When we reluctantly quitted the ^^ Denes," 
from whose gray rocks the afterglow had faded, 
we vowed that we would spend every sunset in 
this wonderful valley; but the morning light 
and Walter's conversations with the several 
drivers have revealed so many delightful places 
to explore that it now looks as if we should be 
coaching and junketing every hour of our stay 
at Lynton. 

One day we are to drive to the Hunter 's Inn, 

269 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

which is in a valley of heather and furze, near 
the sea. Another drive will be to Simonsbath 
in the very heart of the Exmoor forest, and still 
another drive or walk will be to Lee Abbey, the 
ancient home of the ill-starred family of De 
Wichehalse, all of whom perished in this beau- 
tiful, cruel bay. 

These are only a few of the many places in 
the neighborhood well worth visiting, and yet 
Lynton itself is beautiful enough to hold us fast 
by its own charms. I am writing on a delightful 
balcony which overhangs the cliff. We look 
down upon many hill-side gardens which are 
as lovely as those of Italy. Four hundred feet 
below us are Lynmouth and the two babbling 
Lyns, while beyond, as far as the eye can reach, 
is the sea, or rather, the Bristol Channel, and 
toward the north the line of the Welsh hills, 
faint and cloudlike in the distance. Angela and 
I would be content to spend the best part of the 
day on this lovely balcony, reading, talking, 
and writing to you; but Walter urges us to 
make the most of the fine weather for an ex- 
cursion to the Doone Valley, a drive of ten miles 
or more. On cloudy and rainy days he is plan- 
ning to fish with Dr. Mclvor in the Oare Water 
or in the Barle, as trout abound in all of these 
mountain streams. 

270 



THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE 



August 28th. 

Yesterday afternoon our road lay by tlie East 
Lyn, and on by that lovely glen, the Waters- 
meet, in wliich two rushing streams throw them- 
selves into each other's arms, and go singing 
on their way to Lynmouth and the sea. Much 
of our drive was by Brendon Water, which 
separates Devonshire from Somerset. At Bren- 
don, the old bridge, overhung with trees and 
vines, is so picturesque that Angela and Lisa 
begged the driver to stop long enough to allow 
them to take a picture of it, while we strolled 
along the road-side and thought how easily the 
Doones could have hid themselves in the thick 
undergrowth while lying in wait for unwary 
travellers. We began to read Lorna Doone to 
the girls last night, and Christine thought she 
had found the very *^ little gullet by a barrow 
of heather ' ' in which John Eidd and the timor- 
ous John Fry hid themselves while the Doones 
passed by, but the driver disturbed her pleasant 
fancy by telling her that Dunkery Beacon was 
over toward Porlock, and not in our route for 
this afternoon. 

' We drove for some distance along the edge 
of the moor and through gates into the ancient 
forest. Gates seem quite out of keeping with 

271 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

the wildness of Exmoor, and are probably to 
keep the deer, which still abound in this region, 
from wandering far afield. 

Malmsmead, where are the buildings that 
constitute what is now called the Doone farm, 
is a most peaceful valley, with low hills rising 
above it and a lovely mountain stream winding 
through it, over which is a fine double-arched 
stone bridge. Here we were glad to climb down 
from our high seats on the coach and refresh 
ourselves with some bread and jam, and some 
very poor tea, before beginning our long walk 
through the Badgeworthy Glen to the strong- 
hold of the Doones. 

The first part of the route was easy walking, 
through narrow hedge-bordered lanes and over 
trickling streamlets, until we began to ascend 
the famous Waterslide, which seems a much 
less formidable stream now than the one up 
which little John Eidd struggled so painfully 
in search of the much prized ^^ loaches.'' The 
walk was longer than we had been told, and 
as the roughest part still lay before us, Walter 
begged us to linger by the stream or stroll back 
slowly toward the farm, while he pushed on 
with some Englishmen who had come from 
Lynton in another coach. 

The drive and the walk are really too much 

272 



"THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 

for an afternoon, and we are promising our- 
selves the pleasure of coming again for a whole 
day, as Walter reports the Doone stronghold 
most interesting. The foundations of some of 
the huts are still to be seen, and although the 
entrance is not defended, as Blackmore 
described it, by ^^a fence of sheer rock and 
rough arches, jagged, black and terrible," this 
side-valley, shut in by bleak moorland hills, is 
quite weird enough to excite ^*an imagination 
less active than Zelphine's." The last words, 
in quotes, as you may notice, are Walter's, who 
claims that I have a monopoly of this faculty to 
the exclusion of the rest of the family. 

We drove home by another route, stopping at 
Oare church where Lorna and John were mar- 
ried. As it stands to-day, the church is quaint 
and interesting, although considerably enlarged 
and disappointingly modern in some of its ap- 
pointments. A heavy arch or screen of dark 
wood separates the newer part of the building 
from the tiny chapel, before whose altar John 
Eidd and Lorna stood when the sound of a shot 
followed the parson's blessing, and the bride 
in her bright beauty fell bleeding at her hus- 
band's feet. 

The little girls were so excited by our talk 
of the tragic wedding that we had to explain to 

18 273 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

them that the valiant John pursued his enemy, 
Carver Doone, overcame him, and had the satis- 
faction of seeing him sink into the black bog 
of the Wizard's Slough near by. 

*^And the bride, did she get alive again T' 
asked Lisa, knowing well that a story has no 
right to end in sorrow. 

*^Yes,'' said Walter, gravely, '^ which was 
less difficult as she was not at any time really 
dead, although her wedding dress was quite 
ruined, and she was never able to wear it at 
family parties; but John bought her another 
dress quite as good, and they lived ever after 
in great happiness and peace, with never a 
Doone in all the country to molest or make them 
afraid. ' ' 

The drive home by Countisbury, with the 
Sillery Sands and the sea, on one side, and the 
downs, purple with heather, on the other, was 
so delightful that we were loath to quit the head- 
land road and descend the long hill to Lyn- 
mouth. Here the driver insisted upon dumping 
us, explaining with perfect satisfaction to him- 
self, if not to us, that the Lynton hill was quite 
too steep for his horses with so heavy a load, 
and that it was customary for travellers to use 
the lift. 

We naturally scorned the lift as an inglorious 
274 



"THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 

way of ending an afternoon of ideal beauty and 
charm, and slowly made our way up the steep 
hill-side by the pretty vine-covered cottage 
where Shelley and his Harriet lived for a 
short time after their return from Ireland. 

By the time we reached the top of the hill 
the western sky was brilliant in an afterglow 
of crimson and gold, while the vast mass of 
Castle Eock, in the shadow, stood out dark, 
rugged and menacing, like the fortress of a rob- 
ber chieftain, or the very fastness of the 
Doones themselves. 

August 29th. 
Dr. Mclvor appeared early this morning. 
How he came we do not know, as there was no 
train arriving about that time. He probably 
walked part of the way, as he is a famous 
walker. I was upstairs ; but Angela and Chris- 
tine happened to be in the hall, and when we 
came downstairs we found them, all three, wait- 
ing to go into breakfast with us. Angela is 
really treating the Doctor quite civilly, and has 
gone with him to explore the Valley of Eocks, 
very discreetly taking the children with her. 
We are planning to have a whole day to-morrow 
in Dooneland, where Walter and the Doctor are 
hoping to have some fishing in the Badgeworthy 
or in one of the other waters thereabout. 

275 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Walter carried the Doctor off to a sale of 
ponies to-day, which is one of the excitements 
of this region. This is really much more inter- 
esting than an ordinary sale, as the sturdy lit- 
tle creatures which are running wild are bought 
**on the hoof,'' if I may so express it, and, 
quite the reverse of Mrs. Glass's ^'hare," you 
huy your pony first and then catch it. 

I stopped writing to go with Angela and the 
girls to the Watersmeet, where we spent the 
whole morning. Angela is making a water- 
color sketch of a little nook she is very fond of, 
where the shade is dense and the birches lean 
over the rushing Lyn until their branches dip 
into the water. 

Our two men have just returned from the 
sale, and what do you think they have brought 
back with them? Two ponies; Walter caught 
one and Dr. Mclvor the other. They are the 
dearest shaggy little creatures, and so love their 
moorland freedom that they cry like children 
when they are first put into harness. 

Dr. Mclvor has bestowed his prize upon 
Christine, and Lisa has adopted the other one. 
I really think that Walter had no idea of taking 
his pony home when he caught it, and was only 
thinking of the sport; but the children have 
simply fallen in love with the dear little crea- 

276 



"THE LAND OF LORNA DOONE" 

tures, and I cannot blame them, as they are 
perfect dears, and I love them myself ; but how 
shall we ever get them home ? Walter will have 
to manage it in some way. I am glad that this 
added responsibility is not mine, which Angela 
says is ^^a very nndutiful speech from a 
helpmeet. ' ' 

September 2nd. 

After a week's stay in Lynton we are by no 
means ready to leave it. In addition to the 
beauty of its bold headlands and peaceful val- 
leys, we have revelled in certain creature com- 
forts not to be despised by a good traveller. 
In view of all that we have enjoyed at this 
inn, we bestowed our tips upon the numerous 
attendants with real pleasure; indeed Angela, 
with royal generosity, handed the porter a 
purse just before we drove away, greatly to 
the Doctor's amusement, who asked if this 
was an American custom. The man seemed 
charmed with Angela's graceful gift, although 
she explained that the purse was an old one 
that she had intended to throw away, and that 
it only contained small pieces of silver and cop- 
pers. These Devonshire people are simple- 
hearted folk, easily pleased, and will, I am sure, 
always think of Angela as a princess from 
fairyland. 

277 



XII 

DUNDAGEL BY THE CORNISH SEA 



BiDEFORD, September 4tb. 

Two days we have spent here in search of 
Kingsley associations. This morning we drove 
to the little town of Westward Ho to visit the 
house, now an inn, in which a part of the novel 
Westward Ho! was written. This afternoon 
we went to the Eoyal Hotel, here in Bideford, 
which is the one Kingsley described as the home 
of Rose Saltern's father, and in the large 
drawing-room the novelist wrote the first chap- 
ters of his romance. This room has a stucco 
ceiling, decorated with garlands of fruits, flow- 
ers and birds, all delicately tinted, artists 
having been brought from Italy for the purpose 
by the merchant prince who lived in this house 
in the time of Sir Francis Drake. The effect 
is rich and handsome, odd as it may seem. 

Yesterday we had one golden day at Clovelly. 
Here we found ourselves in the very heart of 
Kingsleyland, for near Clovelly Court is the 

278 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



little church of which the elder Kingsley was 
rector during the boyhood and youth of the 
novelist. 

The genius of Charles Kingsley seems to 
have owed a lasting debt to the rugged and 
picturesque beauty of the Devonshire coast, 
which he acknowledged to his wife when he 
brought her here in later years. **Now that 
you have seen Clovelly/' he said, '*you know 
what was the inspiration of my life before I 
met you." 

Dear little Clovelly, with its one precipitous 
street rising sharply from the sea, is like a bit 
of Italy set down in green England. It is so 
lovely, with its cottages embowered in vines, 
its fuchsia trees gay with blossoms, and its 
Hobby Drive from which we had incomparable 
glimpses of sea and shore, that it deserves a 
whole letter to itself, which Angela will doubt- 
less write you, as she has quite lost her heart 
to Clovelly. 

The Wellington, 

BoscASTLE, September 5tli. 

We came here to-day from Bideford by a 
most roundabout route through Yeoford, Oke- 
hampton, and Launceston, to Camelford. The 
journey between Okehampton and Launceston 
was on the edge of Dartmoor, and the vast 

279 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

reaches of moorland were quite beyond any- 
thing that we have seen further north. 

Camelford is the ancient Camelot where King 
Arthur fought his last fatal battle with his 
faithless kinsman, Modred. We were glad that 
there was no time to spend at this place, as they 
show here a spot which they call King Arthur's 
grave, and having seen the place where he and 
Queen Guinevere were buried at Glastonbury 
we distinctly object to being shown another 
grave of King Arthur. 

A pleasant moorland drive, of four or ^ve 
miles, brought us to the good inn where we are 
stopping. 

We have established ourselves at Boscastle 
instead of at Trevenna, and for the most mun- 
dane of reasons, the good repute of the inn here. 
A charming compatriot, whom we met at Bide- 
ford, recommended the Wellington, saying that 
she sometimes trusted to Providence in the 
choice of inns, and sometimes to Baedeker, and 
in the latter case she always rued the day. 
Following the leadings of this stranger guide, 
we are living in the greatest comfort in this 
charmingly picturesque place, and find to our 
amusement that in the case of this particular 
inn Providence and Baedeker are of one mind. 

Everything about this house is English of 

280 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



the better sort, from the magnificent pitcher 
in the shape of a swan that adorns my wash- 
hand-stand to the afternoon tea-table, where 
Devonshire cream flows as freely as the milk 
and honey of the promised land of Israel. On 
our drive over from Camelford, Walter, for the 
sake of saying something to the driver, from 
whom he says he generally learns more than 
from the London Times, asked whether he 
should find Devonshire cream at Boscastle. 

You would have laughed if you could have 
seen the shake of the head and the lift of the 
shoulders with which this loyal son of Corn- 
wall emphasized his contempt for the products 
of an adjoining county. '^No, Cornish cream,'' 
was the curt reply. We all laughed, and the 
man, with a comfortable sense of having the 
best of the situation, became quite loquacious, 
pointing out to us places of interest that we 
passed, flourishing his whip with pride toward 
Brown Willa, the highest hill in Cornwall, 
toward Willa Park Point, which bold headland 
is crowned with a tiny white observatory, and 
toward the new hotel at Trevenna, a substantial 
castellated building, which to the bucolic mind 
is of far more importance than the ruins of 
King Arthur's castle near by. 

The afternoon was so perfect that we were 

281 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

tempted out for a walk by an enticing headland 
path, which follows the windings of the tortuous 
Boscastle harbor, to a seat high above the sea, 
from which we had a fine view of the sun set- 
ting behind the great boulders of Tintagel Head. 
Beyond lies King Arthur's castle, ^^Dundagel 
by the Cornish sea,'' a realm of mystery and 
romance which we shall soon explore. 

September 6tli. 

This has been heaven's own day for beauty 
of sea, shore, and sky. I need not tell you 
that we have spent the greater part of it in 
walking through the one street of Trevenna, or 
Tintagel as they seem to call it now, a graceful 
concession to the importance of the castle of 
Dundagel or Tintagel, which dominates the 
whole region hereabouts. Nearly all the build- 
ings of the little hamlet are quaint and pictur- 
esque. The village post-office is especially 
charming with its moss-grown eaves and many 
peaks, gables and chimneys. Angela was much 
more successful in getting a picture of this 
building than of the castle. The vastness of 
the ruin and the irregularity of the foundations, 
a part on the mainland and the larger portion 
upon a wild craggy headland reaching out into 
the sea, made it quite impossible to include the 
whole on one film. 

282 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



After securing the key of the castle, which 
we found, as directed by our guide-book, at the 
little refreshment house in the valley, we 
crossed a narrow path over a chasm three hun- 
dred feet deep and climbed up many rock-hewn 
steps to the iron door that leads into the great 
banqueting-hall of King Arthur. Beyond are 
the outlines of several rooms, the remains of a 
chapel, high battlemented walls supported by 
noble buttresses on the cliff side, and two per- 
fect doorways. 

Although we failed to be thrilled by ^^King 
Arthur's cups and saucers, the right royal 
king's bed," or even his ** footsteps imprinted 
on the solid rock where he stepped at one stride 
across the chasm to Tintagel church," on the 
hill beyond, we were deeply impressed by the 
strength and dignity of what is left of this once- 
impregnable fortress. Even in its ruinous state 
it recalls the descriptions that reached the ears 
of Uther Pendragon when he set forth to cap- 
ture Dundagel and to possess himself of the fair 
Igernia: **A castle so munified by art and na- 
ture, and of so narrow an entrance over the sea 
and rocks by a drawbridge and chain, that three 
armed men could hold at bay an army on the 
mainland." You remember that it was only 
by the aid of Merlin's strategy and magic that 

283 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Uther of the bloody red dragon entered the cas- 
tle and, disguised as Gothlois, gained admit- 
tance to the apartments of Igernia. From such 
witchcraft and treachery, bloodshed and 
misery, the cruel deception of the trusting 
Igernia and the slaying of her valiant and 
faithful husband, came forth that flower of 
knighthood, truth and courage, King Arthur. 

A castle, however ruinous, whose existence 
reaches back into the shadowy time between 
legend and actual history, and whose associa- 
tions are among the most inspiring that belong 
to English literature, is something to make one 
forget the world of to-day and dream dreams 
of the past. And here, seated upon a bit of 
grassy sward with a projecting rock to lean 
against, I sit and dream and write to you, while 
Walter and Dr. Mclvor indulge their anti- 
quarian tastes by examining the masonry of 
the outer walls of the castle. 

Angela and the girls, as sure-footed as the 
mountain goats that are the only inhabitants 
of the castle, climbed to the highest point, an 
alarmingly dizzy height! Truly, as Nordau 
has said, ^^He must have eyes that will scale 
Tintagel," and be sure of foot as well, I may 
add. They called to me from their rocky height 
that the view was fine and that I had better join 

284 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



them. Even far below, where I sit, the pros- 
pect is most alluring, from Trevose Head on 
the south to Hartland Point on the north, which 
cuts off dear little Clovelly and Bideford, while 
still beyond in the far distance I can discern the 
faint cloud-like line of the Welsh coast. Quite 
near are Lundy Island and the Two Sisters, and 
far below, at the foot of a deep chasm, there is 
a little sheltered cove with a sandy beach where 
children are at play. 

I had written just so much of my letter when 
Walter and Dr. Mclvor joined me, both enthu- 
siastic over their explorations. The rudeness 
of the masonry and the use of china clay for 
mortar prove beyond doubt, the Doctor says, 
that the outer walls, bastion and gateway be- 
long to the period of the early Britons. 

Angela and the girls have come down from 
their eyrie, the latter quite clamorous for 
luncheon, which, we had been told, we should 
find in the little cottage where we obtained 
the key of the castle. Walter and I were loath 
to quit this charming spot for the unpromising 
cottage, whose refreshments we were sure 
would fail to refresh. But with a long after- 
noon before us, in which we had planned to 
explore the church on the cliff and to walk a 
mile or more along the coast to the Trebarwith 

285 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

Strand, it seemed the part of wisdom to for- 
tify the inner man. 

^^If we could but be sure of such *meat and 
taties' as the Vicar of Morwenstow and his 
friend Jeune feasted upon when they came 
here/' said Dr. Mclvor, recalling to us as we 
walked the visit of the two clericals to the 
Ship Inn near Boscastle, and the extreme reti- 
cence of the landlady when asked what meat 
she would serve her guests for their dinner. 
When the by no means unsavory dish was set 
upon the table, with not a bone to identify the 
joint, the good Vicar suggested that the Widow 
Treworgy was serving them a bit of a Bos- 
castle baby ; upon which the Rev. Jeune dashed 
into the kitchen with a fresh set of questions, 
to which he received the same unsatisfactory 
answer, — ^Meat and taties.' Years after the 
Vicar of Morwenstow read in an ancient his- 
tory of Cornwall this illuminating passage: 
*'Tlie sillie people of Bouscastle and Boussiney 
do catch in the summer seas divers young 
soyles [seals], which, doubtful if they be fish 
or flesh, Conynge housewives will nevertheless 
roast, and do make thereof savoury meat." 

*' Savory meat whether of Boscastle baby or 
young seal would be acceptable to-day," said 
Walter, as he sat down to our slim luncheon of 

2SG 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



bread and jam and ginger ale of a sweet insipid 
kind peculiar to the British Isles, not at all like 
the spicy, pungent sort that we know in Amer- 
ica as the imported ale. 

However, with appetites sharpened by the 
keen bracing air of this west coast, which An- 
gela says is so fine because it has blown straight 
over from America, with no land on the way to 
contaminate it, we made a substantial meal. 
Indeed, we were so merry over it, Walter and 
Dr. Mclvor vying with each other in telling 
amusing stories of the eccentric Vicar, of which 
the M.D. had gathered a fresh supply during a 
recent visit to Morwenstow, that the land- 
lady's husband, a sober- visaged rustic, came 
to the door several times to see what the fun 
was about; or, as Angela suggested, to see 
whether some of us were not fit subjects for 
the county mad-house. The feast ended with 
toasts drunk in ginger ale, after which Ian 
Mclvor sang several verses of the stirring 
' ' Song of The Western Men. ' ' As the Doctor 's 
fine baritone rang forth in the haunting 
refrain : 

"And shall Trelawney die? 
And shall Trelawney die? 
Then twenty thousand Cornish men 
Will know the reason why ! " 
287 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

I did not wonder that Sir Walter Scott and 
Lord Macaulay had both been deceived, in 
believing the Vicar of Morwenstow's song to 
be a genuine ancient ballad. 

Something, perhaps the touch of pathos in 
Ian Mclvor's voice or my own warm sympathy 
with Trelawney and the other bold ^^ conjuring 
bishops,'' brought tears to my eyes, and turning 
to Angela I saw something suspiciously like 
them in her blue eyes. What has come over our 
Angela, who was not wont to be moved to tears 
by song of man or woman? Almost before I 
had time to ask myself this question, she was 
chatting away as gayly as ever, asking me if I 
remembered that Trevalga was the scene of 
Black's *^ Three Feathers." A lady in the 
coach had pointed out to her several places 
described in the novel, and then with her eyes 
full of mischief she sang the lines that Mabyn 
Eosewarne was always repeating to her sister, 
to prove to her that her unwelcome suitor's 
emerald ** engaged ring" was of ill omen: 

" Oh, green ^s forsaken 
And yellow 's forsworn, 

And blue ^s the sweetest 
Color that^s worn." 

Dr. Mclvor looked somewhat disconcerted, 
and I noticed, for the first time, that he had 

288 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



on a bright green and particularly unbecoming 
necktie. Angela can be a torment, as well as a 
delight ! 

We spent the afternoon in and around Tin- 
tagel Church, whose curious lich-gate inter- 
ested us even more than its unexpectedly rich 
interior. Eough-hewn logs, a little distance 
apart, are placed over the foot-path between 
the gate-posts, which unusual arrangement is 
said to prevent animals from entering the en- 
closure. Another surprise met us in the church- 
yard, where the tombstones are supported by 
strong buttresses of masonry, so violent are 
the winds on this headland. We shivered at 
the thought of what this hill-side must be in 
a winter storm, and were glad to turn our foot- 
steps toward a lovely cove to the south which is 
bounded by the shining Trebarwith sands. Here 
we lingered so long that the twilight had deep- 
ened into darkness, and the stars were shining 
in the blue above us, when we drove back to 
Boscastle. 

BoscASTLE, September 8th. 

We decided, by the advice of some pleasant 
English people whom we have met here, to 
devote this beautiful Sunday to two interest- 
ing old churches near Boscastle, the Minster 
Church and St. Simforium at Forrabury. Our 

19 289 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

way to the Minster Church, this morning, was 
up a steep little street, almost as precipitous as 
the high street of Clovelly — a charming little 
village street with picturesque cottages hanging 
on the sides of the hill, set about with gardens 
and orchards. A part of the walk was by bab- 
bling streamlets and through wood paths as 
lovely as those by which Lancelot and 
Guinevere rode ^ through the coverts of the 
deer,'' in that far-off time which seems 
strangely near us to-day in this, the home of 
the Arthurian story. Although this is not **the 
boyhood of the year," the verdure of these well- 
watered forests and meadows is as rich as 
when, with tears and smiles: 

" Spring upon the plain 
Came in a sunlit fall of rain. 

And far, in the forest deeps unseen, 
The topmost elm-tree gather'd green 

From draughts of balmy air." 

The Minster Church dedicated to St. 
Metherian, a quite unknown quantity to us, is 
situated in a deep, well-wooded valley and is 
quaint and interesting with its carved oak 
arches, and tablets of greater or less antiquity. 
In the south aisle we found a monument bear- 
ing this curious inscription: 

290 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



"Forty-nine years they lived man and wife, 
And what's more rare, thus many without strife; 
She first departing, he a few weeks tried 
To live without her, could not, and so died." 

The name of this town, Boscastle, is we find 
the result of the shortening of names in which 
the English delight, being originally the site of 
the Castle of Bottreaux, the estate of a Norman 
family who settled here in the reign of Henry 
11. Nothing is left of the castle but a green 
mound. Forrabury Church, although ancient, 
is still a quite substantial building. As the 
afternoon service was later than we had 
thought, we climbed up the steep hill upon 
which the Willa Park signal-house stands and 
looks down upon the little church below. Stand- 
ing out boldly upon a stretch of tableland, girt 
about by fields of yellowing grain, and flanked 
by the small gray villages of Trevalga and Bos- 
castle, the church and its surroundings seemed 
to us typically English and peaceful enough to 
have inspired a pastoral of Cowper or Words- 
worth. And yet, framing in this quiet picture, 
is a rugged and dangerous coast-line. The very 
name of the church speaks of the uncertainty 
of life upon these wild shores, as Forrabury 
means '*a far off or fair burying-place, " and 

291 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

its silent tower is associated with a sorrowful 
tale of shipwreck. This story, one of our Eng- 
lish acquaintances related to us, with that 
pleasant readiness to contribute his share to 
the general entertainment which we are coming 
to look upon as an English trait. 

** After the building of the little church the 
Lord of Bottreaux sent a peal of bells, cast in 
London, to Forrabury by sea. When the vessel 
was still off Willa Park Point the pilot, a sailor 
from Trevenna, heard the sound of his own 
church-bells and gave thanks to God, upon 
which the captain, less devout than his pilot, 
said that they had only their stout ship to 
thank. The pilot remonstrated, the captain 
broke out in a volley of oaths, whereupon in 
the words of the Vicar of Morwenstow: 

^Up rose that sea, as if it heard 
The mighty Master's signal word.' 

The gale increased and hard upon the perilous 
rocks the ill-fated ship was soon hurled, a total 
wreck." 

**And the good pilot?" asked Lisa, who is 
my own child in her eagerness for a proper 
and satisfactory ending of a story. 

*'He clung to a plank," said Mr. Andrews, 
**and was washed ashore by a friendly wave." 

292 



DUNDAGEL BY THE SEA 



**I 'm so glad! And the wicked captain, was 
he drowned r' asked Lisa, with the entire resig- 
nation with which children always regard the 
destruction of the wicked. 

**Yes/' continued Mr. Andrews, **the captain 
was drowned, and to this day it is said — 

Still when the storm of Bottreaux's waves 
Is wakening in its weedy caves, 
Those bells that sullen surges hide, 
Peal their deep notes beneath the tide. 
^ Come to thy God in time ! ' 
Thus saith the ocean chime; 
* Storm, billow, whirlwind past. 
Come to thy God at last.' " 

The tower of the Forrabury Church, which 
is of three stages and finished with battlements, 
like so many of these ancient West of England 
churches, now contains but one bell, instead of 
the chime of bells that was intended for it. In 
the interior are several monuments to the Bot- 
treaux family and some good carvings. 

Although the shores of Cornwall are less 
rich and fertile than the Devonshire land, these 
bare, bald hills and treeless downs make their 
own appeal to us, which Dr. Mclvor says is 
somewhat like the appeal of his dear Scottish 
hills. These Cornish folk, like the Scotch, are 
imaginative, poetic and superstitious. One can 

293 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

readily understand this being the home of the 
Arthurian story, with which the traditions of 
St. Joseph and his fellow pilgrims are so 
strangely interwoven. We are regretting now 
that we have not given ourselves time to go 
down to Penzance, and St. MichaePs Mound, 
which has also its associations with Joseph of 
Arimathea. Is not travel just a bit like life? — 
we are always learning, often when it is too 
late, what to do and what to leave undone, and 
hoping to pass by this way again and pick up 
the threads. Is that too serious an ending to 
my letter? Well, then, here is a bit of gossip. 
Angela has been so disagreeable to Dr. Mclvor 
that I wonder that he speaks to her at all. He 
is sensitive and shows that he feels her rebuffs 
by being formal and studiously polite. I feel 
sorry for him, mais que fairef 



XIII 
A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 



Exeter, September 9th. 
We left Boscastle this morning, driving to 
Camelford and there taking a train to Oke- 
hampton. That old town, lying under the 
shadow of Yes Tor, may have many charms, 
and there is said to be a ruined castle nearly 
hidden away in a great park; but for us all of 
its attractions were obscured by a blinding fall 
of rain. We drove to the White Hart, bag and 
baggage, which fortunately was only hand lug- 
gage, as we had our trunks sent on from Bide- 
f ord by ' * advance luggage, ' ' and let me tell you, 
just here, for your comfort when you travel in 
England again, that we found this arrange- 
ment most satisfactory and reasonable. And 
what a comfort it is to be rid of the care of 
trunks, which we have had to follow about like 
detectives, at every change of cars! As the 
rain persisted, and there was no chance of see- 
ing the park, or the ghostly Lady Howard, who 
only plucks her historic blade of grass in the 

295 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

dead of the night, we held a serious consulta- 
tion as to whether we should drive on to Chag- 
ford, as we had planned, or take the next train 
to Exeter. I say a serious consultation quite 
advisedly, for anything more dejected than Dr. 
Mclvor and Angela this morning I have seldom 
seen. One cannot wonder much at the Doctor's 
depression, as he leaves us at Exeter or South- 
ampton; but Angela is quite as dull! Walter 
says that he is tired of seeing him look like a 
tombstone, and wishes he would settle the mat- 
ter with Angela and go back to his ' ^ Grampian 
Hills,'* and feed his father's flocks for him. 

When I remark that the settling of the matter 
may make Ian Mclvor a sadder and a wiser 
man, he shakes his head and says, **It would be 
impossible for him to be sadder — ^why he even 
doesn't care to fish, and lost a fine perch that 
was on his line the other day just from pure 
heedlessness;" and as for Angela, he says, with 
a shake of his wise head that **the ways of 

women are past finding out, but " What 

that fateful *^but " was meant to convey I 

was not destined to learn, as the Doctor and 
Angela, who had been inquiring as to routes 
and trains, appeared at this moment. 

This is a digression, but I am sure you are 
quite sufficiently interested to pardon it, and 

296 



A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 



will be pleased to know that Dr. Mclvor, what- 
ever the state of his heart may be, still retains 
a reasonable share of common sense. This he 
showed by agreeing with me. Could there be 
a better proof of it ? The particular point upon 
which the Doctor and I agreed was that it would 
be foolish to drive eleven miles to Chagford in 
a closed carriage, an open one being out of the 
question in this pour, simply to spend a night 
there, as we had to be here by the tenth in 
order to catch our boat at Southampton on 
Wednesday. So we turned our backs on the 
storied charms of Chagford, hoping to return 
sometime when we have an entire week to stop 
at *'The Three Crowns," and to follow the 
delusive Yes Tor, as did Josephine Tozier's 
party, who found the old town so enchanting. 
Before we reached Exeter the sun was shin- 
ing with tantalizing brilliancy, but we need have 
no regrets, for by losing the drive to Chagford 
we have gained more time in this ancient city, 
which has so much to offer us in its beautiful 
Cathedral, its noble ruins, and above all in its 
historic associations. Exeter, once the capital 
of the west, is, as Professor Freeman tells us, 
'*the only English City that can boast of an un- 
broken existence for eighteen hundred years, 
the one City in which we can feel sure that 

297 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

human habitation and civic life have never 
ceased from the days of the early Caesars to our 
own. * * * * The City alike of Briton, Ro- 
man, and Englishman, the one great prize of 
the Christian Saxon, the City where Jupiter 
gave way to Christ, but where Christ never 
gave way to Woden. British Caerwisc, Roman 
Isca, West Saxon Exeter, may well stand first 
on our roll-call of English Cities. Others can 
boast of a fuller share of modern greatness; 
none other can trace a life so unbroken to so 
remote a past.^' 

As we walked along High Street, past the 
handsome old Guildhall, and near the ruins of 
Rougemont Castle, Dr. Mclvor explained to us 
that this street follows the old Roman road, 
and that the great mound on which the ruins 
of the castle stand was once a British strong- 
hold. A highway of kings was this street, that 
is now so full of shops and trams, for we may 
believe that by this way passed Caesar and his 
legions. King Arthur and his knights, AJfred 
the Great, William the Conqueror, Edward the 
Black Prince, the Edwards who came before 
and after him, and Charles I and his Queen, 
whose daughter, Henrietta, was born in Bed- 
ford House near by. 

The Princess Katharine of Aragon also 

298 



A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 



stopped two nights at the deanery in Exeter 
on her ill-starred journey from Plymouth to 
London, to marry Prince Arthur, and was, 
according to the old story, so annoyed by the 
noise of the weathercock on the quaint church 
of St. Mary Michel that it was taken down. 
And Walter reminds us that Richard III must 
have been here, as Shakespeare makes him say : 

'' Richmond ! When last I was in Exeter, 
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle 
And called it Rouge-mont; at which name I started, 
Because a bard of Ireland told me once 
I should not live long- after I saw Richmond." 

Surely Exeter should have its pageants, for 
no English city, except London, can boast a 
history so varied and interesting. In addition 
to all the kings and princes who passed this 
way, there also journeyed along this old street 
the great sea captains. Sir Francis Drake and 
Lord Nelson, and here came conquering Fair- 
fax, Monmouth going to his death and William 
of Orange to his throne. Is n't it all quite thrill- 
ing, something that one would not miss for gold 
or gain? Walter found a book of Professor 
Freeman's about Exeter, in one of the shops, 
which we are reading to-night with great in- 
terest. I mean that Walter and I are reading 
it, as Angela and the Doctor have gone out to 

299 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

see Eougemont Castle by the light of the moon. 
I am beginning to feel as Walter does upon that 
subject from several little things that have 
happened to-day and then a little French coup- 
let about L^ Amour has been running through 
my mind most persistently all day: 

" Qui que tu sois voici ton maitre, 
II est, il fut ou il doit etre." 

Has Angela really yielded to the spells of 
the little blind god? 

^'Qui 'en sahef" Walter asks, by way of in- 
troducing another language into the discussion, 
and then he very gracefully reminds me that 
Angela is not the only woman of his acquaint- 
ance *^who was a long time making up her 
mind.'' *' Which way her happiness lay," I 
said, finishing out his sentence so entirely to 
his satisfaction that we stopped talking about 
Angela and fell to pleasant castle-building, 
while Walter smoked his cigar and I waited for 
the return of the wanderers. 

The night was too glorious to spend in doors, 
and we finally started to see Eougemont Castle 
by the light of the moon. On our way there 
we passed Angela and Dr. Mclvor, on the other 
side of High Street, but they were talking so 
earnestly that they never saw us, 

aoo 



A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 



September 10th. 

We have changed all of our plans, Mar- 
garet dear, and are going to London to-night 
instead of to Southampton. Why, I will tell 
you, but, as Angela always says, I must begin 
at the beginning of the story. 

As we had only walked around and about 
the Cathedral yesterday to enjoy its beautiful 
architecture, Walter and the girls and I went 
there this morning immediately after breakfast. 
At the last moment Angela concluded to go 
with Dr. Mclvor to see St. Mary Arches, which 
he thinks much more interesting than the 
Cathedral. 

The minstrel gallery on the north wall of 
Exeter Cathedral is said to be the finest in 
England. It is much more beautiful than the 
gallery at Wells, and is so rich in its carving 
and decoration that it is impossible for me to 
conceive of anything of its kind more lovely. 
The twelve angels in the niches, bearing differ- 
ent musical instruments, are exquisitely carved, 
and the corbelled heads beneath are those of 
Edward III and his queen, Philippa. I am send- 
ing you a photograph of this gallery, which you 
will love, as I do. 

Christine was perfectly delighted to find a 
301 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

window, near the west entrance, in memory of 
Bichard Doddridge Blackmore, the author of 
her favorite Lorna Doone. Under the window 
is a white marble tablet which bears, with titles 
and dates, the following inscription: 

" Insight and humor, and the rythmic roll 
Of antique lore, his fertile fancies sway'd, 
And with their various eloquence array'd 
His sterling English, pure and clear and whole." 

A. J. M. 

" He added Christian courtesy and the humility of all 
thoughtful minds to a certain grand and glorious gift of 
radiating humanity." Craddock Nowell. 

Is it not a most lovely inscription and one 
well worthy of a man who has given so much 
pure and healthful pleasure to the world? 

We had just turned from the Blackmore 
tablet and were walking toward the choir when 
we saw Angela and Dr. Mclvor enter by the 
south door. They paused a moment on the 
threshold, where the sun shone upon Angela's 
blonde head, lighting up every thread to purest 
gold. As she came forward it seemed as if she 
brought sunshine with her into the darkness of 
the Cathedral, which is, I hope, a happy omen 
that joy and peace may come to her in large 
measure, for of course we knew, at once, that 
something had happened. 

302 



A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 



Walter did the right thing, the one thing that 
men always do on such occasions, which was 
to shake the Doctor's hand vigorously. I really 
don't know what I said to Angela, for I sud- 
denly felt strangely guilty and ashamed of 
what I had thought of Dr. Mclvor's not being 
good enough or handsome enough for her. In 
a moment all my small and petty objections 
seemed to fall away, and looking into his frank, 
manly face I felt sure that Angela had chosen 
wisely. As we walked home I said something 
to Angela about her seriousness of late, and of 
my not having spoken of it, because I thought 
that she was feeling sorry for Dr. Mclvor, who 
was to leave us so soon ; upon which she turned 
her radiant face to me and said, with her own 
charming frankness, ^^Why Z., dear, how could 
you think that? I was sorry for myself, be- 
cause I thought that Dr. Mclvor didn't care 
for me." 

Was not that just like Angela's unexpected- 
ness? 

*^And as you thought that he did not care 
for you, and as he was quite sure that you did 
not care for him, how in the world did you ever 
come to an understanding?" I asked. 

'^I think," said Angela, with a mischievous 
twinkle in her eyes, ^^that it was through the 

303 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

intervention of Christine's pony. I admired 
it so much that Dr. Mclvor offered to go the 
next day and catch one for me. I said that I 
wouldn't accept a pony from him if he caught 
a dozen. This seemed to hurt his feelings, 
which was perfectly absurd, as he couldn't ex- 
pect me to accept ponies and things from him, 
not being a child like Christine; and then he 
was very high and mighty, and I undertook to 
bring him down a peg or two." 

**And you succeeded, between you, in being 
very miserable.'' 

^^Yes, and last night, when he began talking 
ahout going back to York, and the many miles 
that would separate us, when I am in my own 
home, I began to think that he cared a little, 
and so we made up our quarrel by the light of 
the moon." 

The dear little pony, troublesome as it may 
be to get him home, had his hour of usefulness. 
I fancy, although Angela did not say so, that she 
was angry because Dr. Mclvor did not offer her 
the pony, at first, and then being provoked at 
herself for caring at all, she gave him the 
benefit of her ill humors. It all seems very silly 
and childish; but lovers can make a quarrel 
over anything, no matter how trifling. Every- 
thing is settled now, and they are as happy as 

304 



A HIGHWAY OF KINGS 



two birds on a bough, but I am thinking of 
the time of reckoning with the parents. 

Angela has been planning to meet her father 
and mother in Paris, but as they are now due 
in London we have decided to go there this 
afternoon. I must really give an account of 
my stewardship, — our stewardship, I should 
say, for although Walter calls me a match- 
maker, I tell him that he has had more to do 
with this particular match than I have, as he 
and Dr. Mclvor have been fast friends from 
the first and it was he who encouraged the 
Doctor to join us. 

I am finishing my letter hurriedly, as I wish 
you to have the news as speedily as possible. 
Angela sends her love and says she will write 
to you soon, and that of all things she wishes 
you and Allan to know her Ian Mclvor. How 
much prettier Ian is than plain John! The 
common tie of Scotch blood should make Allan 
and the Doctor good friends. You will doubt- 
less have an opportunity to meet him soon, as 
Walter has invited him to spend Christmas with 
us at The Gables. May we not count upon you 
and Allan to join us and complete the party! 

I have just had a letter from Miss Cassandra, 
telling me that she and Lydia will sail with us 
from Cherbourg on the twenty-fifth. As Archie 

20 305 



AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON 

will probably be one of our party, Walter al- 
ready predicts another engagement, and in view 
of my "match-making proclivities, '* as he is 
pleased to call my acceptance of this match of 
his making, he says that he shall have to guard 
Christine and Lisa against my wiles. 

And now adieu, as we shall soon be on our 
way to London. Some of these days we shall 
be coming over to Scotland to visit Angela in 
her Highland castle. Dr. Mclvor is a laird in 
his own country, and has quite a long string of 
titles. Isn't it odd that this ancient highway 
of kings should have become for us a byway of 
lovers ! — ''and of Honeymooners as well,'' adds 
Angela, to whom I have just read this last par- 
agraph; Honeymooners being her latest name 
for Walter and me. She insists that she and 
Dr. Mclvor saw us last night when we were on 
our way to Eougemont Castle, but says that we 
were too deep in conversation to notice them. 
From which you see that she has recovered 
her spirits and is once more our teasing, charm- 
ing Angela. And how she puzzles, fascinates 
and bewilders her M.D. ! Again, au revoir, 
until we meet in the land of the Stars and 
Stripes. 

Your always devoted, 

Zelphine. 



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